Lemonworld
by LolaBleu
Summary: I could argue with her that we should keep Emma forever, that she'd be happier with us than out in that filthy horror show of a world, but I knew how that argument would end. Emma belonged here, with Violet. This was finally something I could give her; finally a way of giving her everything she needed to be happy; finally a way of making things right.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** So I seem to be unable to write a simple little one-shot lately. Or anything without a Prologue. Whatever. Anyway, you can thank **jandjsalmon** and **shootingstella** for this fic since they inspired it with one of their Tumblr convo's wishing for a fic that killed a cute little four year old (Ladies, you're right - it sounds awful out of context). I couldn't get it out of my head and with some additional input from jandy I got to writing. So, I hope I'm doing her justice, and of course I wanted to say thank you for basically being awesome and amazing. If I could bake you cookies I would, but I can't so I'm giving you this instead.

Important stuff: The Prologue is written from Violet's POV, but the rest is from Tate's.

* * *

**Prologue**

The house wasn't sentient. It didn't think. But it did feel things. It did have needs. Like a carnivorous plant. I could feel it around me, restless, twitching, pushing me out of the wood and plaster and glass that had been my safe haven since _that Christmas_, and back into it instead of being a part of it. I opened my eyes at the end of the hallway by my bedroom, feeling the air around me heavy and expectant.

I heard voices moving through the hallways and I strained my ears trying to make them out, catching words here and there before the same realtor who sold us the house rounded the corner flanked by a couple ooing and awing their way through the classic L.A. Victorian.

I scrutinized them as they approached. The wife, some fake Barbie bitch, was more plastic parts than actual flesh. She might have been pretty at one point; before the cheek and chin implants, before the nose job, the tit job, the lippo, the tummy tuck, the bleach bottle blonde and contacts making her eyes technicolor blue.

The husband reeked of womanizing almost as badly as the noxious cloud of cologne that followed him around, burning my nose. His phone chimed in his pocket as they made their way down the hall and he ducked into my old room to bark orders at some flunky, giving me a better understanding of his wife's many, many enhancements.

Apparently if you want to land a Middle-grade, middle-aged Hollywood producer you have pull on your big girl britches and get nipped and tucked and trade in those ballet flats for stilettos. Sooner or later she'd get traded in for a newer, faster, sleeker model because in her late twenties she was probably getting a little long in the tooth for him.

So when the sullen looking little mousy brown haired girl rounded the corner clutching the hand of a nanny to join them I had no doubt what role she played. She was a meal ticket, a safe guard, a security blanket to make sure that when daddy did dump mommy, as he inevitably would, she'd get a nice fat check every month, at least until the little girl was eighteen.

It was amazing how the house could attract shitty parents; The Mongomery's; The Langdon's; The Harvey's; The Harmon's. I had accused my parents of benign neglect, but these two took it to a new level.

I wondered why they had even brought her along because it wasn't that they ignored her, it was that she didn't exist to them. She walked down the hallway, craning her neck to look in each room, her mother oblivious as she excitedly discussed decorating options with Marci, and her father only lifting his eyes away from the phone he was furiously tapping on to give the nanny a look full of innuendo, making a blush stain her cheeks.

As soon as she was clear of the other adults her eyes locked on me, and I froze in place at the improbability of it because she shouldn't be able to see me.

"Hi." Said a small, girlish voice in my head and if I hadn't heard Constance's CraigsList psychic do the same thing a lifetime ago I would have dropped dead of of shock right there.

"Hi."

"Who are you?"

"Violet." I said more calmly than I felt.

"Do you live here?"

"Yes. Does that scare you?"

"No." Her little voice held a note of defiance. "I'm not scared of anything."

I smirked. "I used to say that too."

"My grandma Lily comes to see me sometimes; she's dead too." She smiled at me as if talking to dead relatives was the most natural thing in the world.

"Who are you smiling at Emma?" The nanny asked suspiciously, making me wonder if the house just generally gave her the creeps or if its other inhabitants were pulling out all the stops before the new family had even signed the papers.

I shook my head vigorously. "Don't tell her I'm here; she can't see me."

"I know." She said simply, in that know-it-all-voice that is so annoying in little kids. She lifted her face to the nanny. "You can't see her." She said audibly this time.

She pulled her hand free and walked into my old room, stopping to look out the windows. I followed, watching, taking in the her small frame and pale skin; the freckles dotted sparsely high on her cheeks and the soft sea green eyes that sat above them.

"Who's that woman downstairs?"

"Was she in a black dress?" She nodded. "Moira; she's the maid."

"Oh. Do lots of ghosts live here?" She asked curiously.

"Yes. How old are you Emma?"

"Four; I can spell my name though." She added hastily, as if to impress me with how grown up she was. "The other kids at preschool can't do that." She said proudly.

"How do you spell it?"

Her face screwed up in concentration. "E-M-M-A."

"You're pretty smart aren't you?" Her eyes were brilliant with the complement and her cheeks flushed pink.

"Emma? Come on, we need to go downstairs now." The nanny motioned her towards the door, and she looked from her back to me, scowling.

"I have to go now. Can I talk to you again sometime?"

"Sure." I said uncertainly, fighting against the knot of dread in my stomach and resisting the urge to follow her out, just to make sure none of the other spirits hurt her, to protect her.

* * *

It had been going on for weeks now. Every afternoon when Emma was supposed to be taking a nap she'd whisper for Violet, and then she'd appear, right by the bed. Just like that. I couldn't count how many times I'd cried out for her over the years; whispers, wails, whines. She ignored them all. But not for the little girl. Not for Emma. For Emma she'd appear out of thin air before her name even finished passing her lips.

They'd sit and 'talk' until the nanny recalled her to the world of the living. Not today though. Today, her daddy got busted fucking the nanny when mommy came home early from pilates or the spa or shopping or whatever the fuck she did other than parenting.

Currently there was shrill screaming coming from the upper floors, the nanny having collected her things hastily and hurtled out the door. The woman didn't know how lucky she was; if Mrs. Cooper was anything like Constance she'd be a permanent fixture of the house. I had a suspicion that Moira was the one who had tipped off The Little Missus; she could get so territorial about the men in the house.

Whatever her reason for doing it, I needed her help now and went to beg it while she was scrubbing the counters with a sinister smile playing on her lips. "I want you to tell Mrs. Cooper to hire Violet as the new nanny."

"Why would I do that?" She asked shrewdly.

"Because you don't want another hot piece of nanny ass coming into the house and usurping your position as head Jezebel?" I offered. She stopped scrubbing at the counter, glaring at me with her dead eye, and I dropped the bullshit sarcasm. "It makes her happy; I want her to be happy. Besides Emma knows about us, and if Vi's the one taking care of her we can at least have run of the house during the day."

"Fine."

"Thanks." I slid down off the counter and I decided to go visit Beau. All the screaming would probably have him cowering in the corner in fear. It took me awhile to coax him out, but eventually the red ball was rolling back and forth between us; neither it nor Beau taking up much of my attention.

It hurt that she came back for the girl and not me. She had been gone so long, but I always knew she'd come back, even after her parents had given up hope. I knew when she came back she might ignore me, have gotten over us; that she might move on to someone else. It still hurt because while it was easy for me to say all those things, it wasn't easy to live with them, to ignore them.

At least in the months after _that Christmas_, even though they were the worst of my life, even though Violet was terrifying in her brokenness and her self-destruction, it was because she still loved me. It could have been worse, I guess. If I had to watch her with another guy I was sure the pain of it would have killed me. But even though it was a little girl, a little girl who couldn't touch what Violet and I had, it still hurt.

In the weeks she'd been back she hadn't sought me out, not once. The little girl, Emma, could see us even when others couldn't. I knew she saw me even if she never talked to me. If she told Violet about it, and really she had no reason not to, she didn't tell anyone. That hurt too. More than anything I wanted her find me; to scream at me; to rage and storm at my for spying on her. It would have been better than her callous indifference; it would have given me hope because if I could still hurt her, she still loved me.

Maybe if Moira let slip that I had tried to arrange things, whether they worked out or not, it would make a difference. Maybe she'd see that I still wanted to be hers, that I wanted to be the one that made her happy, that I took care of her; proof that I'd changed and not just mere words. Maybe if she got the job she'd find me and offer an awkward 'thank you'. It would be a start, something to build on, and one day maybe I'd be enough for her; be all she would ever need.

I rolled the red ball back one last time, and pushed myself off the dusty floor. Even if I swore I wouldn't do it, I did. Every time I visited Beau in the attic it ended the same way. I wended my way through the maze of boxes to the far corner, shifting some around to reach ones on the bottom of the stack. Her boxes.

I fingered through the clothes and books, the ephemera of life; the ugly yellow cardigan she was wearing the first time I saw her; journals and notebooks full of her thoughts. They only chronicled the part of her life I wasn't a part of, and it felt like fate's cruel joke because I would have chopped off my right arm to read words that her warm hand had scribbled across the page about me no matter how good or bad they were.

My chest tightened convulsively when I ran across a picture of her and I laying in the yard; her face resting against my chest, mine buried in her hair. We were smiling, happy; two teenagers in love. I remembered what the picture didn't show; her hand holding up her phone to take the picture, mine slipped up under her shirt and curved around her side.

When I could breath again I put everything back where it belonged and made my way back to the basement, only stopping for a second to listen to Moira consoling the current Lady of the House.

I was standing in the corner of the living room the next morning when Violet met Mrs. Cooper for the first time. She came in the guise of a neighborhood girl taking a year off between high school and college. They discussed what would be expected of her: that she keep Emma entertained and out of trouble the five days a week she wasn't at preschool from nine in the morning until she fell asleep; on nights when they were out or they were having a party she had to stay until they got home or went to bed.

It was all pointless really. The only thing she cared about was that Violet not be her husbands type and after running a disparaging and judgemental eye over her decided she'd be perfect. I was amused by Violet though; even though she'd only have one day a year to spend it she haggled for a bonus on the nights when she had to stay late, arguing that she'd be giving up her social life to do so. Her only caveat was that she be paid in cash, and considering that she wouldn't fuck Mr. Cooper with his dick, it was no problem.

No one was really concerned with getting The Cooper's out of the house after that. During the day, as long as the the only living person in the house was Emma, we could carry on as if the place was empty. There were other benefits, like paying the electric bill so we could have air conditioning over the summer, always having a well stocked fridge, and their Hollywood coke and champagne socials provided ample opportunities for sport sex for some of the ghosts.

* * *

My days fell into an easy routine. Violet would come in through the front door, and I'd be waiting. I'd follow her upstairs, going up to visit Beau while she got Emma changed and ready for the day. I'd watch them play; watch Violet sit through endless tea parties and coloring, dress up and reading Dr. Suess. All things she probably wouldn't have had the patience for if she was alive, but reveled in because she was dead and lonely.

I was grateful for Emma, at first. She made Violet laugh and smile, kept her in the house instead of a part of it. I was jealous for the same reasons, but mostly grateful. Violet was happy for the first time in a long time though, and whatever jealousy I felt I squashed because I could endure it if it brought her happiness. It wasn't just happiness though; I could see the fondness growing there in Violet's eyes for Emma and the contempt for her parents every time they slighted and ignored her.

And they did ignore her. It was a throwback to the times of Nora around the house; children were to be seen and not heard when they're seen at all, and the only time they seemed to see her was when she had to sit quietly through dinner on the nights they weren't partying. Mrs. Cooper barely deigning to drive her to preschool twice a week on the Violet's days off.

But as time wore on I could see Violet slipping further from me. She doted on Emma, nothing made her happier than making Emma happy, and to a little girl who only had two uncaring parents and previous nannies who had only seen her as a paycheck it was the best thing in the world. Even through the gratefulness and jealousy was envy; Violet mothered her in the way I'd wished Constance or Nora or anyone had done to me at that age.

The quiet moments were the ones that stung the most. The way Emma would wrap her arms around Violet's middle and rest her face against her hip as she talked to Moira or her mother; Violet's hand unconsciously dropping down to smooth the girls hair or rub her shoulder. Even if no one else could see it I could, because it was like watching myself. Emma was stealing Violet's heart, just as Violet had stolen mine.

As if I'd needed any confirmation of it Hayden made the mistake of referring to Emma as a 'little freak' within Violet's earshot one day. It earned her a swift and unceremonious trip down the stairs, head first. Emma was making her forget, blotting out the past and me and us in Violet's memory, or at least making me unnecessary. I withdrew to the crawlspace, hiding next to what remained of Violet's body, bones now, to think.

* * *

The first gift I gave Violet was one she didn't recognize as a gift. It was sleep. She was tired at night now, preferring to actually sleep than to fade out until morning. Even if taking care of Emma wasn't hard work, it was tiring chasing around a four year old twelve hours a day. So when she fell asleep on a futon in the smallest bedroom I made sure nothing disturbed her.

I watched her hungrily, my eyes tracing half forgotten curves while she slept because it was the closest I'd been to her in years. It was late and the house was quiet when her breathing hitched and she shuddered around a few words that might have been my name, but were too garbled in sleep to be sure of. When a tear slipped out under her lashes I gingerly put a hand on her and she stilled, comforted.

I felt tears cascade down my face because even if she didn't know it, she was happy I was there, and that made the hope inside my chest flare; maybe she still did need me, she just needed to be reminded, and that was exactly what I was going to do. I kept my hand there until morning, withdrawing when the house started to come alive around us with a gentle kiss to her shoulder and a murmured _I love you_ in her ear.

The next gift was more obvious. I had been scouring the house since my sojourn to the crawlspace for gifts, not really for Violet, but for Emma since she was clearly the way to Vi's heart now. The games were ancient, but intact, so one day when they were in the backyard I left _Candyland_ and _Chutes & Ladders_ on the play table in her room. Emma squealed with delight when she saw them, and after her bath when she was supposed to be going to sleep Violet let her stay up late for one last round.

The third gift wasn't something I'd planned on, but it was the most overt; the one that would tell her exactly who was watching in an undeniable way. The only furniture in Emma's room was kid sized, and on the nights Violet had to stay with her it was uncomfortable for her. So a few days before the Memorial Day blowout The Cooper's planned I was sanding the chipped and warped paint off my favourite chair and applying a fresh coat. She didn't react when she was it, but the fact that she didn't throw it out the window or light it on fire or something I took as a good sign.

The last gift I gave her was something that I had to wait for, but the most important. So far Emma hadn't been down to the basement. Violet wasn't letting her anywhere near the more unstable ghosts of the house, but she was a bold and curious little girl, and even though Violet told her there were monsters down there I knew one day she'd be tempted.

I didn't have long to wait. It came at the end of a morning when Violet had kept her inside due to the unseasonably hot weather. They decided to play hide and seek in the house. Naturally Emma tried to hide in the basement as soon as she was out of Violet's sight.

As soon as Thaddeus crawled out from under a pile of junk she shrieked and I scooped her up into my arms and away from danger. "Go away!" Emma was hiding her face against me and trembling, but she was safe in my arms.

The basement door danged open. "Emma!" I could hear how frantic Violet was and stepped out into the main room as she clambered down the steps.

"She's fine." I said quietly as she rushed up, completely ignoring me and totally focused on the girl in my arms. She was close enough for me to smell her, to feel her breath as her hands brushed against me, fluttering around checking Emma for injuries.

"Did he hurt you?" She shook her head, but still seemed too scared for speech. Violet lifted her out of my arms and held her tightly. "I told you not to come in here, Emma." She might have been scolding, but the relief in her voice was unmistakable.

"I don't want to play hide and seek anymore." Emma's voice waved, muffled against Violet's neck.

"Okay."

"Can we go outside?" Outside in the sun; far removed from the dank basement and it's monsters.

"Sure." Violet finally lifted her eyes to mine. "Thank you." She said stiffly and turned to leave, but Emma lifted her face away from Violet and looked at me.

"You can come play too, Tate." She pulled back looking at Violet. "He can right?"

"Yes." Her voice was tight, but it didn't register with Emma, and I ignored it, obediently following them upstairs and outside.

As soon as Violet set her down in the middle of the yard I crouched down to her level, asking her if she wanted to see the nest of baby birds hidden in one of the trees. I knew she loved birds, had spent weeks biting my tongue in the shadows every time she asked Violet what kinds of birds made their homes in the backyard and she couldn't tell her.

She smiled at me sweetly, nodding her head in excitement, and I lifted her up onto my shoulders. Violet followed along, silent. "Do you know what kind is it?"

"A flycatcher." She made a small chirping noise and the mother bird cocked her head curiously as Violet laughed behind us.

We toured around the yard looking at the finches and bluebirds, thrushes and orioles, before I finally set her down in the gazebo, out of the harsh sun, for the lunch Moira had brought out. Emma watched me with open fascination as she ate and I tried not to watch Violet the same way. She was somber and uncomfortable, and other than her laugh earlier she didn't speak at all, audibly anyway, other than to remind Emma to thank me for saving her before they went back in the house.

It was a start anyway.

* * *

I expected Violet to find me once she got Emma to sleep. Expected her to be angry about today. Expected her to make me swear to stay away from Emma and her. She didn't. Once she got her to sleep tonight she made her fake exit from the house and disappeared. I couldn't find her at first, and the fear that she might have gone away again made my heart race and shoot up into my throat.

I found her, later, in Emma's room. She looked anxious as she sat in the rocking chair that had formerly been my home. Tensed and waiting, for what I wasn't sure, but her eyes never wavered from Emma as she slept; thin arms wrapped around a stuffed animal, lips barely parted.

I wondered if she was worried I'd try to hurt her, if that was the reason for tonight's vigil, but pushed the thought out, unwilling to believe Violet would think that. It was late and the house was still, Emma's parents having finally poured themselves into bed, when she started tossing and turning. I wasn't sure Violet was breathing she was wound so tightly, and when Emma let loose a volley of frightened noises she moved to the bed, gently placing her hands on her shoulders and shaking her awake. "It's okay, Em. It's just a dream."

Emma looked up at her for a moment with wide frightened eyes before practically leaping into Violet's lap, shaking in fright. "Don't let him get me."

Violet picked her up and moved both of them back to the chair, holding her tightly, and trying to soothe her. "I won't let him hurt you."

"Don't go." Her voice was still terrified, but she wasn't shaking anymore, finding safety in nestling against Violet.

"I won't." She rocked them back and forth until Emma fell asleep again.

"She was talking about Thaddeus, not you." I walked out of the shadows, grabbing up a soft fleece blanket from the foot of the bed and spreading it over them before sitting down in front of her.

I dropped my gaze from her. "How did you know I was here?"

"You're always there. She always asks me why you look so sad."

"Because I am."

"Me too." She rested her face against the top of Emma's head and closed her eyes for a moment. "She makes me forget though. It's easier living in her world than mine because mine means you, and it hurts too much. But you know that don't you? That's why you've been so kind to her isn't it? You don't want me to forget."

I could lie to her, tell her that she was wrong, but what was the point? She was right, and we both knew it. "I just want you back. I want you to remember me, us, the way it was, the way it could be."

"That's the problem. Every memory of you touching me makes me wonder if you touched my mother the same way."

Her words were like a punch to the gut, and my mouth was working before my mind had time to catch up. "I didn't. It wasn't like... I raped her, Vi, it wasn't like it was with us." She glared at me, murderous. "I was thinking about you-"

Before I could say anything else, she did. "Go away."

* * *

The ball rolled unwavering between us and like always I was trying to find a way to fix things with Violet. I had spent the last two days berating myself for what I'd said to her. I had hoped that the next day while Emma was away at preschool I'd be able to talk to her, apologize, something, anything to make up for the stupid, hurtful words that sprung from my mouth. She wasn't there, disappearing into the house before I had a chance. I knew Violet and Emma were in her room right now, but I couldn't just burst in there; Violet would probably beat me to death if I did.

All my plans, all for nothing. What was the point of making friends with the little girl, of using her to show Violet how I'd changed, if I was going to blow it every time I opened my stupid, unthinking mouth?

"She wants you to come to her tea party." Violet's voice was restrained and tired, and when I turned around to look at her she was hunched in on herself, hands around her elbows. She could barely look at me.

I rolled the ball back to Beau one last time and stood up slowly, walking towards her carefully like she was a frightened animal. "Okay." She turned to go down the attic stairs. "Violet?"

She stopped but didn't turn around. "I don't want to talk about it." Her words were strung as tightly as the muscles across her back. Suddenly she whipped around, advancing on me like she was going to hit me. I'd let her because I deserved so much more than that.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing with Emma. Getting her to love you isn't going to make me love you again." She reached out, knotting a hand into my hair and pulling me down to her so she could whisper in my ear. "If you hurt her, no matter how disgusting I find it, I promise you I will make you watch your dad fuck me in every way you've ever fantasized about fucking me."

Her eyes were hard and furious slits and I had no doubt it was a promise she'd follow through with. I nodded as much as I could, wincing at her nails digging into my scalp before she released me and went downstairs. I tried to rearrange my features into something approximating excitement for the tea party I'd have to sit through, and forced a smile when Emma greeted me with excitement, imperiously telling me what chair to sit in.

She poured out the invisible tea and talked about all the things she'd done at preschool the day before. I barely noticed, too focused on how Violet angled herself away from me; the waves of pain she was trying to hide on her face. While Emma was distracted, busy with pots and pans in her play kitchen, I reached out for Violet. As soon as my fingers brushed against her hand she was up out of her chair, and out the room. The door slamming behind her with a sickening finality.

Emma turned around and looked at me, her face falling into a mask of tragedy as she sat down, hard, in her chair. "I just want to cheer her up." She thought at me, her hair hiding her face as she hung her head.

"Hey." I reached out, hooking a finger under her chin and lifting it up to look at me. "She's not mad at you. I said something mean to her; she's mad at me, not you." I tried to reassure her.

"Did you say 'sorry'?". I shook my head, struggling for words to explain to a four year old what happened, and not finding any. "You should tell her 'sorry'." She said reproachfully. I smiled. It would be nice to be her age again, to be able to fix things so easily.

"I will." I promised her. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms across her chest and watching me. "What? Now?" She nodded. "No, Violet wouldn't like you to be left alone. When she comes back I will, okay?" She didn't look too happy with my offer, but shrugged her little shoulders. "Do you want to play a game or something until she comes back?"

"Can we go outside and pick flowers?" She asked hopefully.

"Sure." I let her drag me downstairs, her hand small in my own, and out into the yard. As soon as we were outside she released me and ran off to a bed of daisies, picking them in bunches while I trailed along behind her, filling my hands as well. She sat down busying herself with making a daisy chain.

"Why do you watch Violet all the time?" She looked at me curiously.

"I guess because I miss her." I said slowly, unsure if answering her question was the right thing to do.

"But you're always there."

"She can't see me though, and even when she can she won't talk to me. It's not like it used to be." I added before I could stop myself, and immediately regretted it.

"What do you mean?"

I hung my head. "Violet used to be... my friend. I did something bad... really bad. She doesn't like me anymore."

She handed me a flower. "I like you."

"Thanks." I said awkwardly and tried to distract her. "So how long have you been able to talk to ghosts?"

"I don't know; forever. Violet says it's because I'm special." She smiled up at me.

"Do you remember the first ghost you talk to?"

She shook her head. "But I used to talk to my grandma Lily a lot before we moved here." The house was probably keeping her out like it kept out my fanclub.

Violet came out the backdoor at dusk and Emma ran to her, jumping into her arms, before she gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek and placed the daisy chain she'd made on top of Violet's head like a crown. When I reached them they were speaking silently, expressions sliding across their faces in synchronization before Vi set her on the ground and turned to me. "Thanks for watching her." She said simply.

Emma watched me narrowly from where she was cuddled up against Violet's hip as I handed her the flowers I'd picked, praying that she wouldn't throw them back in my face. "It was no problem. It was kind of nice, actually." She looked at me like I was full of shit. I let it go. "I'm sorry... about the other night."

Her expression was guarded before she turned and sent Emma inside. "I wish I could say something else; something that would fix everything." I continued.

"I know."

"I miss you, Vi." My voice was broken and pathetic even to my own ears. "I just..." I looked around hoping something would inspire me. "I fucking love you and I hate that I can't have you."

Her expression hardened. "Whose fault is that, Tate? Because it's not mine."

She turned to go in the house and I grabbed her wrist. "I know. I know it's not. It's my fault, everything is. I just-"

"What? Want another chance? It's not going to happen. There isn't anything you can say to fix things, to make me feel better or forgive you." She tugged her hand free and stood glaring at me. That's when it started.

The far off rumble that sounded like a freight train growing closer and closer until it sounded like it was barreling through the house. The earth shivered under our feet before going into a full-tilt shake and jolt, and my body reacted before my mind could even form the word 'earthquake'. I grabbed Violet, dragging her inside, scooping up Emma as she ran to us, and pulling them both under the kitchen table; one arm slung around Violet where she crouched over Emma, the other holding onto the table as it bounced above us.

It seemed to go on forever, but it probably lasted less than a minute. Still it was enough to send the kitchen cupboards flying open, disgorging their contents in a cacophony of shattered glass and china that skittered across the floor around us. The shaking faded just as it had come, one last little shudder making the house groan and creak.

I crawled out first, extending a hand to Violet which she took, leading Emma out with the other hand. "Are you okay?" She nodded, turning to Emma and lifting her on top of the table and asking her the same thing. Before long we were joined by what seemed like every ghost in the house.

She lifted Emma into my arms once she was satisfied she was unharmed and reached for the phone. "Forget it." I told as Emma goggled at all the ghosts milling around, many she probably hadn't seen before. "They're going to be useless for hours." She ignored me, dialing a number and then hanging up in frustration when she got nothing but a busy signal. "Do you know where they are?"

"Comic-Con." She said, meeting the confusion in my eyes with a roll of hers. "San Diego. Trying to pimp some horrible movie." Moira and Ben came in dragging trash cans and ordering everyone out. Vivien handed off the baby to Violet so she could help too, and we made our way into the living room with everyone else to watch the news.

I didn't think I'd been more happy for a natural disaster, ever. If Fate was an entity I'd kiss its feet for creating something so distracting. Our fight was forgotten amid the sounds of nervous reporters and excited scientists filling the air with reports of damage, where the epicenter was, and the magnitude. If Violet was scared she didn't show it, focusing instead on keeping Emma entertained and the baby in her arms quiet.

Whatever petty envy or jealousy I might have had for Emma drained out of me as I watched because I realized that the house, for as fucked up as it is, had a way of giving us what we needed. Maybe not right away, but in the end it would. It gave me Violet, kept me perfect for her for almost twenty years. She was my gift, and I lost her because of the choices I made. Emma was Violet's gift; she filled a hole in her heart in a way that I never could, at least not now.

Emma was always meant to be Violet's just like Violet was meant to be mine, I decided; the realization coming swift and absolute. And if you looked past the darker hair and different colored eyes she _was_ Violet; bold and curious and brave; not afraid to speak her mind, but caring and kind even at four years old. As I watched I wondered if Emma hadn't come along if Violet would have felt the need to be a mother. Probably not, I decided. There had been kids in the house before and she never showed herself to them.

But it wasn't one-sided. Emma didn't ask for her parents the entire time we sat there. Where most children would be screaming for their mother every time an aftershock rocked the house, she'd cling to Violet's side until it stopped, and in no time Violet would have her laughing again. When they called, finally, hours later she didn't care at all; just sat on my lap eating the sandwich I'd hastily made her in the destroyed kitchen when she said she was hungry. The same ambivalence couldn't be said of Violet though, who got hung up the phone looking like she wanted to break things.

Emma had fallen asleep against me by the time the clean up in the kitchen finished. "Come on." Violet said quietly after handing her brother back to her mom. "Let's take her upstairs." She sighed as she opened the door to Emma's room, taking in the books and toys scattered on the floor. I followed carefully, picking my way through them as we made our way over to the bed, letting Violet take Emma's shoes off before I settled her under the covers and she kissed her goodnight.

"I'm glad you have someone." I whispered and Violet's eyes snapped to mine from the other side of the bed.

"it's not like that." She said sharply.

"Yes it is. She loves you, and you love her; it makes you happy. I want you to be happy."

"You just wish it was you making me happy." She moved around the bed and started collecting the books that were scattered across the floor.

I leaned down next to her, helping. "Can you blame me?" I waited a beat to see if she'd answer and the only reply I got was stony silence. "So her parents aren't coming home?"

"No." Even with that one little word I could tell she was raging inside. "She wasn't even the first thing they asked about." She hissed, looking disgusted.

A small aftershock rolled through and she gripped my arm until it stopped, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Emma was still asleep. "Vi? What are you going to do when they leave?"

"They're not going to, and why would they? Everything is quiet around here." She said dismissively.

"That's not the only problem." I said quietly, pointing out the obvious.

"I know." Her anger collapsed and I saw tears well up in her eyes. "I just want to love her while I have her. Make her life a little bit better while I can. I can't keep her."

"Why not? Her parents don't care. You love her and she loves you."

"I know." She said miserably. "But she's leaving this house the same way she came in, alive, because they can give her the one thing I can't: a life outside these walls."

"Violet, that's not-"

"No, Tate."

"Fine." I snapped in irritation.

* * *

"I'm nice to you because of her Tate, don't read anything more than that into this uneasy truce we've got going on." Violet snapped as she lifted the cigarette to her lips, twisting her head to watch the tea party in progress on the other side of the basement from where we were sitting on the stairs. It was the first time in weeks Violet and I didn't have to participate in one.

"Why haven't you told me to stay away, or forbid her from being friends with me then?"

"There's an exercise in futility." She muttered before exhaling. "What difference would it make if I did either of those things? You might stay away for a few days but unless I disappear again you'll haunt me forever. We both know I won't go away, at least while she's here, because in all these years she's the only thing that's made me feel better."

She ground her cigarette out with unwonted force. "And as for me forbidding her to see you, we both know that's bullshit. I can't deny her anything that makes her happy and she's enchanted with you, not that you don't know that."

I didn't even bother looking contrite as her face flushed angrily. "Margaret and Angie look pretty, did you teach them that?"

"Yeah. Took a while though. They didn't remember what they looked like before they were charbroiled, so I had them imagine what they'd look like as princesses."

"Aren't you just wonderful?" She snapped. "The Great and Powerful Tate. He who brings friends and games and knows the names of all the birds-"

"Jesus, would you shut up." Hayden snapped from behind Violet and we both whipped around. "You two are like divorced parents trying to be nice for the sake of the kid. It's wearing really fucking thin."

"Go fuck yourself." Violet snapped and turned back around.

"Rather be fucking your dad."

"He's probably getting a blowjob from Pat. Tell me does it make you jealous that he's rather his lips around his dick than yours?"

She vanished with an irritated hiss and Violet sighed. "You using Emma to get to me doesn't exactly make me feel forgiving, Tate." It was an honest and unguarded statement, and I repaid her in kind.

"I know. I'm not going to lie and deny it because that's what it was at first, but not now. She's part of you. A part of you I can make happy, and it makes me feel better to make her happy the same way it makes you feel better."

She leaned forward wrapping her arms around her knees and resting her head against them. "If I let you be around her don't make me regret it and don't make this about us."

"You make the rules around here." She tilted her head and looked at me for a moment before turning her attention back to Emma.

"Yeah, I do." Her tone left no room for argument.

* * *

"Could you at least not look at him like you're going to eat him?" I snapped, picking at the frayed edge of my jeans so I didn't have to look at her, soaked clothing clinging to her body obscenely.

She giggled, adding her voice to the symphony of little girl squeals filling the air as Emma, Margaret, and Angie dashed back and forth through the sprinklers, chased by a shirtless Travis. "Jealous?"

"Yes." I hissed.

"Don't be. He's not my type."

"What is?"

She looked me. "Beautiful, sad, broken boys apparently." My heart stopped. Literally stopped, before it threw itself against my ribs frantically as she gifted me a little smirk.

"Her birthday is coming up. Want to help me pick out a gift?"

"How are you going to manage that?"

"Stole the password to her parents Amazon account."

"Yeah, okay. What did you have in mind?" Just then Emma bounded up.

"Can I go inside and get some popsicles for us?" She asked breathlessly.

"Yeah, but come here." Violet pushed herself up onto her knees and grabbed the towel next to her. "Moira will skin me alive if you track water and grass into the house." She rubbed her over with the towel, tickling her as I tried to ignore the great view I was afforded of Violet's ass.

"Who's that boy?" Emma asked, looking over Violet's shoulder as she wrapped the towel around her.

We both turned to look at the blonde haired, blue eyed boy peering at us over the fence, and my heart stopped for an entirely different reason. "Just the neighbor." Violet said, her voice on the verge of tears. "Go get the popsicles." She sent Emma off with a pat on the behind and sat back down heavily, her eyes somewhere far away.

I saw her wiping away tears before they had a chance to roll down her cheeks when she asked in a strained whisper what it felt like to be a parent. "You tell me." I said harshly. "Sharing genes doesn't make you a parent. You're more of a parent to Emma than I am to _that thing_. Shit, you're more of a parent to her than her biological parents are."

"I wish she was ours." She said quietly and pushed herself off the gazebo floor to rejoin the watery game of tag in progress, leaving me to tears of my own.

* * *

"Fucking finally." Violet walked out of the shadows in the office as Mr. Cooper's footsteps faded up the stairs.

Violet sat down at the desk and flicked on the computer as she pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket as she brought up the website she wanted and typed 'bird house' into the search bar.

I leaned forward in the chair I was sitting in behind her. "That one." I pointed to a yellow one painted with flowering branches and a twig roof. She added it to the shopping cart along with a hummingbird feeder made from a vintage glass bottle and a matching seed feeder.

"You'll have to hang them up while she's downstairs." She murmured.

"I know." I reached forward, aiming for the mouse and meeting her hand instead. She recoiled slightly, and I muttered an apology. "We should get her something else too though, something she can unwrap. You should always have something to unwrap on your birthday."

"What did you have in mind?"

I nudged her out of the way and comically tapped on each key on the keyboard one at a time until she got annoyed and shoved my hands out of the way, and her own fingers flew across it. "Is this what you were looking for?" She asked with a smirk.

"Yeah; red ones though."

* * *

"Hey birthday girl, time to get up." Violet tickled her and she squealed, curling up in a little ball. "Don't you want to open your presents?" She sat up, pushing hair out of her face, smiling broadly, and practically vibrating with excitement. I picked her up and carried her to the window, pushing back the blinds to show her the little birdhouse with a feeder on either side, already humming with activity as a pair of bluebirds picked at the seeds and looked at her quizzically.

"Do you like it?"

"I do!" She squealed, and kissed me on the cheek before she leaning out of my arms and placing a kiss on Violet's cheek too.

"We got you something else." Violet pulled a wrapped box from behind her and presented it to Emma. I let her slide down to the floor and she eagerly ripped the paper off, beaming at us when she found a pair of red converse.

"They're like yours!" She exclaimed, pulling them out of the box and holding them out to Violet so she could thread the laces. Violet stayed with her, invisible, when her mother came in. I went downstairs and nicked a hefty plate of food for Beau, leaving him with the promise of a slice of cake later.

When I went back downstairs Violet was waiting for me. "If Emma knows any of these people I'll take a swan dive off the top of the house. It's just another party for her parents to impress their friends." She spit out spitefully as we hung around the edges of the party.

We watched Emma blow out the candles on her birthday cake and bust open a pinata to shower the yard in candy and streamers. It wasn't until she was sitting on her mothers lap opening presents while her parents ignored her, her father talking shop on one side, her mother gossiping on the other, that Violet lost it. I chased her into the house, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her into the office where we had some privacy.

She was crying and for once, at least, she let me hold her. "They don't deserve her." She gasped against me.

"She's yours, Vi." I said quietly, trying to soothe her and all it did was make her cry harder.

"She's not, Tate, and in the little ways she is, she shouldn't be. I can't do this anymore." She sobbed. "We have to get them to leave."

I could argue with her that we should keep Emma forever, that she'd be happier with us than out in that filthy horror show of a world, saddled with parents even more unfeeling and callous than mine, but I knew how that argument would end, and I wasn't going to waste my breath on it.

Whatever fresh hell it brought down on me I didn't care; Emma belonged here, with Violet. This was finally something I could give her; finally a way of giving her everything she needed to be happy; finally a way of making things right. I knew she'd be livid with me at first, might actually follow through with her threat, but in the end she'd see I was right.

* * *

The house had been a hive of paranormal activity for weeks now. Violet and I spent our nights now in Emma's room watching over her as the other spirits terrorized her parents.

It made me giddy that they thought they were going insane. Their daughter flatly denied anything 'weird' going on; they were beginning to think it was all in their heads. It was perfect. I didn't want them here, infringing on our happiness. They would leave, alive, but Emma would be staying forever, even if I was the only one who knew it.

I was spread out on the couch, running a weary hand over my face as I tried to refine my plans. It was pointless, no one knew how it would happen, and I'd just have to wing it, but I hated leaving so much up to chance for something so important. I was so lost in my thoughts I didn't hear her approach.

"It's going to break her heart if she leaves."

"I know."

"Do you?" The soft lilt of her voice over those two words conveying so much more.

"Just get them out the of the house." She nodded and withdrew.

* * *

It was nearly three in the morning when the screaming stopped and a terrifying silence followed in its wake. "I can't be here." Violet said in a strained whisper. "I can watch them take her away, Tate." She pleaded with me.

"Go, Vi." I urged as I heard footsteps coming closer. "Go. I'll be here for her." She disappeared just as Emma's mother burst through the door, shaking her awake frantically and standing her on her feet. She was still rubbing sleep from her eyes as her mother began dragging her out the door and into the hallway.

As soon as she realized what was going on she started crying and screaming for Violet first, and then me. I knew wherever Vi was she could hear, and it was tearing at her heart the way it was tearing at mine, only so much worse. I disappeared coming out at the top of the stairs. Emma was twisted around, looking down the hallway, with her back to me when I reached out and fitted my hands around her neck.

I had to repress the revulsion rising in my throat like bile as I snapped her neck and tossed her body down the stairs in one quick movement. I stood for a minute, looking at her small broken body laying at the foot of the stairs, letting my mind dredge up the memory of her and I playing Go Fish in the gazebo that afternoon, and her declaration that she wished Violet and I were her parents. It wasn't the first time she'd said it in the last few weeks.

I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to find Violet staring at me halfway down the hall, her expression unreadable as I reached out a hand towards her. She disappeared and I dropped to the basement, appearing a few feet behind her. "Violet?"

She whirled around and the next thing I was aware of was a the sting of split lip and her screaming at me. "You son of a bitch!" She shrieked, her voice echoing off the stone walls. "How could you!"

I straightened up, wiping the blood away from my mouth. "Because you're her mother in all the ways that matter! She loves you as much as you love her! How could you listen to her screaming for you and not do anything to keep her here!" I screamed, my anger matching hers.

"Violet." Vivien said gently, stepping out of the shadows next to me. "She belongs here." She said firmly.

Violet's eyes were wild with confusion and anger for a moment before they narrowed to slits. "What happened to not wanting anyone else to die here?" She shot at her before she turned on me. "And you." She pointed a shaking finger at me. "Did you ever think that your life might be better if you weren't constantly trying to please the women in this house?"

"It wasn't her idea."

I took a step forward, but Vivien placed a hand on my arm and stepped forward into the line of fire instead. "I don't want anyone to die here." She said calmly. "But those people upstairs who have the gall to call themselves her parents are anything but that. They don't care about her. They don't love her. She's nothing to them and she deserves better than that. She deserves someone who will love her forever. Just because you didn't give birth to her doesn't mean anything; she's yours."

Her anger wilted and she stumbled backwards into the wall, trying to catch her breath as sobs wracked through her small frame. Vivien walked up, placing a hand on her shoulder, and Violet slapped it away angrily.

She slapped at my hand too at first, but let me pull her against me as she cried after that. I kissed the top of her head. I let her cry as sirens approached the house; as the heavy front door swung open with a bang and feet pounded across the floor. "Violet. She's going to wake up soon, we have to find her." I reminded her and she nodded vaguely, letting me lead her around the basement by the hand until we found Emma in a small alcove, perfect but unanimated.

She slid down the wall and waited, smoking her way through half a pack of cigarettes as the minutes ticked by. Finally Emma stirred to life, lifting up her eyes and looking around curiously. She looked intently at Violet and I saw tears slide down her cheeks as she motioned Emma into her lap to wrap her arms around her tightly.

I knew they were talking; knew Violet was trying to explain to her what happened. I couldn't hear their words or see their faces, and a paranoid panic picked at my brain about what Violet could be telling her. Even though we were only a few feet apart I'd never felt so invisible, so alone as I did in that moment. I felt cold and empty, excommunicated, from the things I loved and terrified of the future.

Emma fell asleep against Violet eventually, and when the sun was high in the sky I couldn't stand the silence anymore. "Are you okay?" I asked Violet, and she slowly lifted her face from where it had been resting against the top of Emma's head, meeting my eyes.

"Don't talk to me."

"Violet?"

"No." She snapped. "You don't get a say in this decision, just like I didn't get a say in her death. And when she starts crying for her parents guess what? You're going to be the one who explains to her that she has to stay with us. You're the one who's going to dry those tears. I don't care if you never wanted to be a father. You're one now and you're going to own up to your actions for once."

* * *

**A/N:** So since this ended up being about 5,000 words longer than I anticipated I'm posting it in two halves. The second half will be up Monday or Tuesday. Reviews are always loved and appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **So I had every intention of posting this early Tuesday morning, and like literally 10 minutes before I was going to do it I was locked out of my account for _I Think You Should Know I'm Damaged_ violating the TOS (it was also deleted), so I had to wait until now. Sorry.

Anyway,** jandjsalmon** and **shootingstella** I hope I did you idea and suggestions justice. I adore you both :)

* * *

"I don't need eye shadow." Tate grumbled.

"Yes you do." Said Emma cheerfully as she advanced on him, her hand clutched around little plastic wand like a weapon. He sighed and closed his eyes and she gleefully smeared chartreuse powder across his lids.

He looked mournfully at the little containers of colored powders spread across Emma's play table when he opened his eyes again.

"You look like a really colorful frog." I smirked, and he glared at me, knees up near his shoulders from sitting in the kid sized chair.

As soon as Emma's back was turned he flipped me off with a smirk. "Em, can I please wash this off?" He pleaded when she turned her attention back to him.

She stuck her lip out in a full pout and looked at him sullenly. He grabbed for her, smearing shimmery lip gloss across her cheeks as he kissed her, banishing her pout in a fit of giggles before I pulled her away.

"Mmmm... What flavor was that lip gloss?" I asked after kissing her on the cheek and licking my lips. "Cherry?"

"Strawberry." She corrected.

I carried her into the bathroom and sat her on the counter before pulling some baby wipes out and cleaning the mess off her cheeks. I tossed Tate the package as he walked in and Emma's pout was back. "You can do all different colors tomorrow."

"No she can't." Her eyes swiveled between us like she was watching a tennis match.

I gave him a meaningful look. "Yes she can."

"Yes she can." He said, defeated. I nudged him out of the way and held Emma up so she could wash her hands before taking her back to her room, and settling her under the covers while we waited for Tate to come back.

"I'm not sleepy." She said silently, fighting against a yawn.

"Okay." I brushed the hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ears. "Just close your eyes and rest while Tate reads to you." Tate came back in, standing next to the bed and peering down at her. I knew she was trying to convince him she wasn't tired too, and he just shook his head.

I leaned down so she could wrap her arms around my neck before I kissed her cheek and told her I loved her. "I love you too." It was our usual bedtime routine, even before she died, but it was still nice to have someone who loved you, to hear it and not have it hurt. Tate went through the same motions as me before seating himself in the rocking chair and picking up the book. He read out loud so we could all hear.

Twenty minutes of secret gardens and animal charming boys and she drifted off into a deep sleep. I turned the light off and we slipped out of the room. I couldn't help but breathe out a sigh of relief. Twenty-three days since she died, and the closest she'd gotten to asking for her parents was to ask when she was going back to preschool. I almost cried. Almost.

It was a non-issue; she'd always been happier spending her days at home playing with Lorraine's little girls and Travis than going to preschool so when we told her she wouldn't be, she smiled. I almost cried because of that too. I walked down the hallway to the bathroom, each step a monumental effort, because this was the worst part of my day. The part of the day when I couldn't push away what happened because Emma needed me to be strong for her.

"Vi?" I turned and looked at Tate as my hand gripped the doorknob. "Never mind." He said awkwardly, the desire he felt to reach out and touch me visible on every inch of him. It was the same every night, and I would have been grateful if the familiarity of it would breed contempt because at least then it would stop hurting.

He was still standing there as the door closed between us. I leaned against it to resist the temptation to let him wrap his arms around me and make me feel safe, or at least let him shelter me from my worries before they crushed me.

I pushed myself away, turning on the faucet in the tub, waiting for it to get blisteringly hot. Emma's parents had left the day she died; staying only long enough after the coroner's office left with her body to pack some bags. Emma slept through all of it, and I was grateful. A week later a team of assistants descended on the house and packed up all of their personal belongings, leaving the furniture and Emma's room untouched.

I lowered myself into the water slowly, gritting my teeth through the too hot embrace as a lit cigarette already dangled from my lips. This was the only place that felt like home other than him, and it was funny to me; vampires probably felt the same way about their coffins. I suppose I could have hunted up Hugo, found out if a good old-fashioned spite fuck made me feel better, and doing that wouldn't hurt my mother who was just as guilty as Tate, so what was the point?

I closed my eyes trying not to think of all my fears and inadequacies, tried to not let them pick at my brain like hungry insects. When the pain of the scalding water and the burn of cigarette smoke didn't work I reached for an old friend hidden under a bottle of body wash. I didn't bother with a timid preamble anymore. I wanted it to hurt. The sooner it hurt, the sooner I felt better.

It burned when it tore into the soft flesh on the underside of my upper arm. The razor was rusty and dull and that was even better than a sharp blade. A sharp blade just sort of stung; a dull one _hurt_.

Left. Right. Upper. Lower. Old actions, new patterns. My cuts were like a dinner bell to Pavlov's dogs because by the time I was contemplating making patterns on the top of my thigh I could smell him on the steam permeating the small room, intensifying it until the harsh copper smell of blood was mixed with the scent of him. I flicked the shower curtain closed around me.

"If you don't like it, don't watch." I could see his shadow form and outline against the plastic. I propped my foot up on the edge of the tub and made three nice lines, like exclamation marks, against the top of my thigh just to spite him.

His shadow moved, sitting heavily on the floor, head bowed. I could imagine him out there, my sad broken boy, pulling a loose strand out of the well worn jeans or sweater he wore. The only sound between us for a while the inaudible tear of the blade and swishing tinkle of water as I cleaned off the blood after each cut.

"Did I do something wrong? I thought I was doing okay with Em; I thought that's what you wanted."

"It is and you are." I tried to stamp out the bitterness I felt at him being round. It was easier when she was here, when I could forget that he was only doing what he was doing to get back in my good graces. When I could forget for the moment that he was using her because as much as I hated to admit it he was good with her. All those soft and sweet sides I remembered and didn't want to were constantly on display. It didn't help because once I was away from her I couldn't forget his reasons for doing it.

"I thought you'd be happier now, having Emma to take care of; I was always happier when I had you to take care of."

"I thought I was the one who needed taking care of. Isn't that why you almost killed that guy?" The silence was ringing in my ears. "I don't know why you thought killing Em would fix anything."

I wasn't going to tell him that I was happy. Deep under the fears and worries and insecurities and inadequacies I was happy. Even if I tried to ignore it there was a part of me that was elated she was mine, that I'd never have to give her up, that was waiting for the day when she'd call me 'mommy'. That was the part of me that was fueling the self-destruction now.

Not that I was going to tell him any of that. "Is that why you loved me? Because I let you take care of me?"

"No."

"That's not why I love her either." I said sharply.

"I wish you'd tell me what's wrong so I could fix it." There was a note of defeat and all it did was make me angry.

"That. That's the problem, right there." I said harshly. "Every time I tell you what's wrong you try to fix things and all it does it make it worse. I don't need you to fix my life, Tate."

"Then what do you need?" The haste of his reply communicating the determination he felt to give me anything I might need.

I needed a lot of things, but what I needed more than anything right now was for it to be okay to be vulnerable; to a allow a chink in the careful armor I wore so I could bleed out my worries.

I heard the sharp intake of breath he was hoping would calm him before he spoke again. "Fine. I won't try to fix anything, just fucking talk to me."

I sat there for a long time, the sharp _tink, tink, tink_ of steel against porcelain belying my impatience with myself. I always wanted to tell him what was wrong, always wanted to confide in him, to let him see that side that no one else saw, and I hated that if I did I knew I'd feel better. "She hasn't even been here six months." But maybe in this one instance he was the perfect one for me to share my worries with, because he'd felt them before too, with me.

For once nothing but silence met my words and that made it easier. "What if I'm not enough for her? I worry I won't be enough to keep her happy; forever's a _long_ time. I mean her parents were shitty, but I just... every day I worry that she's going to realize they're gone forever and they're not coming back and I won't be enough for her. I can't protect her from that, and I can't make it better."

I took a deep breath. "And what if in a few years I won't want this? I won't want her? What if it becomes too much and I have to disappear into the house again? Who's going to take care of her then? You? My parents? The only reason you care about her is because you want me back."

"Then why didn't you tell her I killed her?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Because I couldn't save her. Because I'm just as guilty as you. All I wanted to do was protect her and the one time I wasn't there to do it you killed her." There was that crushing guilt too, for not protecting her from that. "Why didn't you tell her?"

"Because it would break her heart. Because when she looks at me she doesn't see a monster; she looks at me like you used to. I don't want to lose that again."

"Honestly, Tate, her finding out what really happened that night is the least of my worries."

He shifted, leaning up against the wall next to me. "Can I say something then?"

"I guess."

"The house always gives us what we need in the end. If I hadn't died here I never would have met you. If I had been alive when I met you I would have been in my mid-30's, and what if I'd moved to Kansas or something? Without the house I wouldn't have found you, and I don't care what you think, I know that even with six billion other people on the planet you're the one, the only one. She was meant to be yours; the house was just the means of facilitating it."

"And I don't worry about you getting bored with her in a few years, or deciding you don't like being a parent and abandoning her. She owns you like you own me. I see the way you look at her, Vi. I see how happy she makes you, how much she's a part of you. I will always be here, waiting, just like you'll always be there for her."

"What if that's just the house?" I said miserably. Sometimes I really hated that I was cursed with ovaries because of the effect this stupid fucking house had on them.

"It's not." A simple statement only possible if you had a penis and lived here. "Anyway, kids take to it better I think. Look at Lorraine's little girls; they're perfectly happy having tea parties with Travis from now until whenever. Their world is smaller, simpler at that age, and she's even younger. Just because you think she's missing out doesn't mean she does."

I sighed. "Hand me a towel."

* * *

Little gentle fingers were tracing my face when I opened my eyes to meet the sea green ones that were watching me curiously. "Hi." It was always the best part of my day.

"Hi." I smiled at her and she smiled back before I rolled over, extending an arm to wrap around her.

"You're pretty. I want to look like you when I grow up." She was still watching me, and I was fighting not to let the pain her words created to show on my face, or leak out my eyes. "I dressed myself this morning." She said proudly, not noticing the gaping hole in my chest that had opened up.

"Did you?"

She nodded. "But Grandma Vivien had to tie my shoes for me." She scooted off the bed and did a little twirl next to it so I could take in her outfit: a purple dress with white and purple striped tights, and red converse.

"Very pretty."

She crawled back up on the bed and kissed my sloppily on the cheek. "Where's Tate?"

"In the attic with Beau probably." And she was gone, skipping out the door and down the hall calling his name.

I let my head fall back heavily against the bank of pillows. I was going to kill Vivien.

* * *

"Bet you enjoyed that." I muttered as my dad walked out kitchen door to join me. "Must be nice to be the one who didn't fuck up for once, huh?"

He sat down, looking at me crossley. At least he didn't look like he was going to cry. Yet. "It's been over a month, you're going to have to give her a break at some point. I don't see you ripping Tate's head off all the time."

"That doesn't mean I'm not punishing him for what he did."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, it is. You think he's wants to be Emma's bitch all the time? We all know why he's doing this, and it's not because of her."

He laughed. "Do you really think so?" I shot him a filthy look; he of all people should know better. If memory served he was the one who diagnosed Tate as a psychopath and pathological liar.

He pulled a cigarette from my pack and lit it. "If you're going to let him help with Emma your mom deserves the same chance. I don't agree with what she did, but she loves you. The thing that hurt her the most was that while her and I got a fresh start when we died, you didn't. You got stuck in this place with someone who broke your heart and nothing else. She wants you to be happy. She sees how much Emma has made you better. Nobody wanted anyone else to die here, but Emma's better off here, with you, than she'd be out there with her 'parents'." He made little air quotes around the world.

He smoked in silence for a few minutes before he seemed to make up his mind about something and spoke again. "Who are you really made at? Because that - what happened in there - it's not about your mom."

"Then what's it about?" I snapped.

"Maybe you just don't want to admit to yourself that the reason you let Tate around her in the first place, the reason you left Emma with him that night, was because you knew what he'd do, and it was what you wanted. You just couldn't bring yourself to do it. Maybe it's time to get off your high horse, Vi."

"You know what she said to me this morning?" I spat at him, unwilling to acknowledge his words or that part of me that wondered, very deep down, if he wasn't right. "That I was pretty and she wanted to be like me when she grew up. How the hell am I supposed to feel about that? What am I supposed to do when she asks me why she isn't growing up?"

Before he could say anything I walked back in the house, slamming the door behind me. Sometimes it sucked living with a shrink.

* * *

"Come on." His was whiny, needling. "Please. Ten minutes."

"Fine." I gave in with a sigh and opened my eyes to find myself on the roof.

"Over here." Tate called and I made my way across the slope of the roof to where he sat. On the opposite side of the house from Constance's. I didn't miss that.

"Wow. Fire. Thrilling." I said as I sat down.

"It's pretty."

"Was Larry when you lit him on fire?"

"Yep." He smiled, and even though I knew I shouldn't, I did too.

I tucked my skirt under my legs to keep it from flapping in the hot winds carrying ash over the city as the hills burned. Even though it was miles away, and I couldn't see the people, I knew where they were was chaos. But life in the city below the hills went on as usual. Head lights snaked through the streets; I could hear the sounds people and music floating in with the ash, a dog barking somewhere close by. Life went on even in the face of tragedy.

"You know I didn't really leave the basement when you were gone, but I'd always come up here and watch this every year."

"Who needs T.V. when you've got natural disasters for your viewing pleasure?"

He laughed. "It wasn't like that. I guess it made me feel better. If I couldn't have you I didn't see the point in anything else. I would have burned the world down if I could."

"Could have burned the house down."

"You were inside it; it might have hurt you."

"That's kind of sweet."

"Thanks." He said awkwardly.

"So is that why you drug me up here? To charm me with you nihilism?"

"No." He grimaced. "Em's out for the night, it's nice up here. I thought you might want to do something other than sit in your room and read."

"I like books. It's nice to live in a different world for a while."

He was quiet as we shared a cigarette. "Do you ever think you'll want me again?" His voice was an inch tall and filled with guilt.

"I can't even think about that right now, Tate, not with everything going on with Emma."

"It's settling down. I just want you to know that you can have me too. If you ever get... sick of your books or whatever, or want to play cards or Scrabble or something once she's asleep, I'm here. I mean, this world can be nice too, you know?"

I leaned my face against my knees and looked at him. It would be so much easier if I wanted to get over him. He did the same thing, the flames in the hills forgotten, the ones between us flaring. "I don't know if I can ever be with you again. I don't know if I can love you again, like I did; I don't know if I can feel safe with you."

Pain washed across his face and he tried to hide it, but he couldn't hide it in his voice when he said he understood that, and it tore at me because even with everything as fucked up as everything was between us I still loved him.

Sometimes I thought I fell in love with him when he was giving me suicide tips in the bathroom. I hadn't wanted anyone else since that moment. I wished he felt the same way. But it wasn't enough to stop him from doing what he did. I wished it were.

* * *

I was trying to read. Trying to. But inevitably my eyes were drawn up away from the text across the page to watch Tate and Emma across the yard from me. I watched the expressions flit across their face, but they weren't giving away whatever it was that they were talking about. He lifted her up, blowing a raspberry on her stomach before setting her down again and chasing her around the yard for a while. It made me smile despite myself, watching them.

"You know there really isn't a greater aphrodisiac than children." Chad drawled as he sat down next to me.

"I wouldn't know." I said stiffly.

"Yes you would. I've been watching you watch them for the last forty-five minutes with that hungry look on your face."

Tate sat down in the shade of a tree and pushed the messy, and probably damp, curls away from his eyes. I remembered when they were damp for other reasons because Chad wasn't entirely wrong; in fact he was completely right. I missed him. I missed him being mine; in my bed, on the attic floor, in my dad's office. I smiled at the memory of that last one.

I remembered what it was like afterwards; the way he'd trace patterns on my back as his breathing steadied. I wasn't even aware I'd drifted away from the backyard and breathing hard at the memory of how I straddled across him as he sat in one of the dining room chairs; the way the ridge around the head of his cock caressed me inside as I slid up and down, fingers dug into his shoulders. Then I remembered where else that appendage had been and I wanted to throw up.

* * *

Lorraine was smoldering prettily in the dark a few feet away from me. It was nice next to her, warm, you just had to make sure you sat her on a really wet patch of grass. Emma was in my lap, bent over the book of constellations as she held the flashlight in her hand.

"I think that's Hercules." Angie said, pointing up at a patch of sky.

"Where?" Said Emma, her head tilted up.

"There."

"Oh... yeah, I think it is." She said with all the certainty she could muster, but I was sure she couldn't see Hercules any more than I could, which was not at all.

"There's the big dipper." I pointed up.

"Everyone can find that, Violet." Margaret giggled.

"Yeah." Emma parroted, and I tickled her; little smart ass.

Lorraine let her girls stay outside until the sounds of Constance shrieking like the shrew she is rent the night air. Apparently her new dog walker left something to be desired. Tate was inside with my dad, locked away in his old office having a 'session'. I couldn't imagine that going well, but since my dad couldn't have living patients he spent his time with dead ones. He said it kept intellectually engaged. I thought that was bullshit, but boredom was a common disease in this house.

Emma leaned back against me, keeping the chill at bay now that our space heater had gone inside. "Where did my mom and dad go Violet?" I wanted to die. I wanted the earth to open up under me and swallow me whole. I seriously contemplated picking her up, walking into the office, setting her on Tate's lap, and walking out. I didn't.

"I don't know, Em. They went away, and I don't know where they went."

"Are they coming back?" There was a little wobble of fear to her voice.

"No." I forced the word out and waited, bracing myself for what was coming.

"Am I going to have to leave too?"

"No." My heart felt like it was trying to force itself out my chest.

"Promise?"

"Yeah." This time I really did cry. Just a few silent tears of relief.

I was sitting on the stairs waiting for Tate when he came out of the office. "Where's the midget?"

"Kitchen, with my mom, having a cup of hot chocolate. She asked about her parents." My mind was such a mess of emotions I was finding it hard to formulate coherent thoughts.

He sat down next to me, carefully, like I might beat him to death. If Emma had freaked out about her parents leaving I might have. "What did she say?"

"She made me promise that she could stay here."

He didn't say anything, just rubbed his hand up and down my back until Emma came out of the kitchen wearing a hot chocolate mustache.

* * *

"You seem happier."

I laid my tiles out on the board. "I'm cursed with shitty, low number tiles tonight, but other than that, yes, I am happier, well less worried I guess."

Tate wrote down my score before contemplating the lettered tiles in front of him. "It's settling down."

"For now." I added, my natural pessimism floating to the surface.

He frowned. "Halloween's coming up." He said as he set his tiles on the board. "Are you planning on doing something?" His voice was light, inquisitive, and it hurt a little bit because he said 'you' and not 'us'.

"My parents are doing something with the baby; they invited us."

"What are they doing?"

"I don't know; I tuned them out pretty quickly. I'm sure trick-or-treating was involved. I can't really stomach being around them for too long though."

"Why?"

"It's kind of nauseating; they're so in love." I scowled at the board. Being around them just reminded me of what I didn't have.

"Oh." His voice was surprised, and hurt.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I thought you might have another reason for not wanting to go."

"Like what?"

"Nothing."

"No, not 'nothing'. What?"

"I wasn't invited."

"Oh." I suddenly realized I wasn't the only one who was hurting here; that I really didn't have a reason to be. "We can't trick-or-treat, not around here anyway. The Dead Breakfast Club would sort of ruin that. Besides I wasn't sure you cared that much; it is your one day of freedom. I wasn't sure if you'd want to spend it with Emma and I."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Your thing with her, it's about me."

"No it's not, you just think it is." His tone was harsh and his eyes hard behind the fringe of hair that hung down around them. "I could have let her leave."

I sat watching him, apprehensive.

"If she left who would you have run to for comfort?" Even if I hated to admit it I knew he was right. "I'm not going to lie and say that at first I wanted to be her friend because it was a way to get you back, but once I was around you two I realized how much a part of you she was, and vice-versa." He leaned back on his hands, looking at me appraisingly, sizing me up. "It would have been a lot easier to let her leave if the only thing I wanted was you. Maybe if you stopped believing the worst of me you would have seen that."

I wanted to snap that it was hard to believe anything other than the worst since he was always living up to that until I realized he wasn't, not anymore anyway. "What do you want?"

He blushed. Actually fucking blushed before he ducked his face so I couldn't see it. "I love her because she's a part of you, but I love just her too." He said in an embarrassed voice.

"It's her first Halloween; I want to do something special." I laid out some tiles on the board, relieving the awkward tension that had descended on us.

"Like what?"

"I don't know. We'll have to do it during the day or get far enough away that your fan club can't ruin it."

"That won't be a problem, Constance leaves every year, we'll just borrow her car. We'll figure something out. Worst case scenario we'll just drive until we find something fun, which shouldn't be too hard since I've got a couple grand stashed away."

"Since when?" I goggled at him.

He shrugged. "Mrs. Cooper kept it hidden in a purse in the back of the closet. I made sure it wasn't there when they came to pack up their shit."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to surprise you." He said like it was nothing, but he looked pleased with himself because I was.

We finished three games in silence, and I lost to him every time I was so distracted by what he said to me, and the fact that he'd been planning for the future even if he hadn't told me about it. When we finished I laid across the bed, trying to work out the kink in my back from sitting so long on the floor. "Goodnight." Tate said as he picked up the game and headed out the door.

"Tate?" I could see him vibrating with nervousness in the doorway. "It makes a difference to me, that you're trying."

He hesitated for a moment before he spoke. "I love you." He said it like it was an explanation and affirmation in one before slinking out the door quietly. _Love you too_ I thought to myself after he'd gone.

* * *

I was watching Pat and Travis in the backyard out the attic window. They had dug some rusty, ancient clippers out of the garage and were trying to tame the jungle that the backyard had become since The Cooper's had stopped paying the gardeners. I kinda liked it in its wild state, but when you've got nothing else to do you become anal retentive about the most inconsequential shit.

We still had a week before Halloween and it was hot enough outside doing manual labor that they'd both stripped down to the waist as they worked. I could see Chad lazily watching them on the back patio, holding a glass of white wine in his hand. He kept throwing bitch faces over the fence to where Constance was watching the men work just as lasciviously.

"Think your mom will be over later." I threw over my shoulder to Tate who was on the floor with Emma, rolling the ball back and forth to Beau.

"Great." He deadpanned.

I kept my eyes on the scene below. There was a pile of greenery in the middle of the yard, and I wondered what they were going to do with it; no one had paid the trash bill either. It seemed kind of stupid; if they were going to keep paying the electric and gas bill why not the trash and gardeners? They couldn't know we'd get anymore more use out of the former than the latter. I kind of liked the idea of living with candles for light, not so much the idea of cold showers though.

I was so zoned out worrying about what would happen when the house eventually changed hands again and what that would mean for Emma that I didn't notice the minor argument going on behind me until Emma's voice reached that shrill, tired-and-on-the-verge-of-a-tantrum level. "No! I don't want to. I want to stay and play with Beau!" She said loudly and defiantly, and I turned to find Tate looking from her to me in a complete state of shock and totally out of his depth.

He'd never had to deal with her refusing him anything, and the fact that she wasn't always going to do as she was told with a smile on her face was fucking with his world view. "Emma!" I said sharply, and she turned to face me, looking contrite. She scuffed her shoe against the bare wood floor. "I don't wanna take a nap."

"Do you want to play tag later?" She nodded, looking down at her feet. "Then you'll take a nap, won't you?" She nodded again. She followed me silently to her room, clambering up on the bed, pouting the whole time as I took her shoes off. "And don't call for Margaret and Angie or anyone else." I said sternly and she rolled over, putting her back to me in a fit of petulance.

I led Tate out by the hand since he seemed too stunned by her outburst to do anything other than stand there stupidly, sitting him down on my bed. "You look like you're regretting your decision to kill her." I said lightly and his head whipped around, his eyes terrified by my flippancy and I knew I'd hit closer to the mark than he'd like to admit. "You shouldn't be."

"I wasn't."

"Yes you were." I teased and he looked horrified. "Stop it. You've seen her have tantrums before, with me. She's five, it's going to happen. If anything, it's a good thing."

"How's that?"

"She knows you love her. She's been so good for you because she was worried you didn't like her; she was trying to win you over. Now she knows you still will love her even if she misbehaves."

"Really?" His voice was full of wonder.

"Really." I smiled at him.

"You're really a good mom, you know that right?" I grimaced and shook my head. It was too weird to think of myself in those terms. "No, Vi, you are." He said emphatically. "You barely have to raise your voice with her when she gets like that. Constance would have beat my ass if I pulled that shit."

"Mothers who eat their young are better than Constance."

"It doesn't change the fact that you're good with her."

I leaned back against the headboard. "So Halloween? We've got a week to figure something out." I tried to distract him. He leaned back on his elbows casually, and we both sat there picking our brains, discarding a dozen ideas between us. The biggest obstacle was that we just didn't know what was going on in the outside world. The city outside the gates was like a foreign land and we were ignorant of what it offered.

Tate was flat on his back muttering to himself when he suddenly looked at me. "Disneyland. It's far enough away, and even if they show up there they won't be let in looking like they do."

I didn't even have time to respond before an excited shriek pierced the air and my door, which had been cracked open, banged noisily against the wall as Emma threw it open and ran into the room, jumped on the bed, and sat in front of my vibrating with excitement.

"Can we really go to Disneyland for Halloween mommy?" She was bouncing up and down, looking from me to Tate, who was doubled over gasping for breath.

"What?" Was my bewildered reply.

"Please, please, _please_ can we go to Disneyland for Halloween mommy?"

"Sure, Em, if that's what you want."

"I do!" She squealed and threw her arms around my neck, nearly choking me.

I looked over at Tate who was curled in on himself. "Are you okay?"

"She kneed me in the junk." He ground out, but he still smiled... eventually.

When Tate had sufficiently recovered we started the promised game of tag, Emma disappearing right before our eyes like a Chesire Cat, huge smile spread across her face. I pushed myself up off the to give chase, but before I could Tate pulled me against him, holding me tightly as a small smile pushed up the dimples in his cheeks.

I let him, because he was the only person I could share this with; the only one who wouldn't judge me for being happy that she was dead and I was her mom now. It was our own quiet celebration.

* * *

Halloween dawned sunny and mild and Emma was so excited she woke me up by jumping up and down on the bed. "Wake up mommy!" She exclaimed as I rolled over, throwing an arm across my face.

"No. Still sleepy." I teased her, and I felt her little hands gripping my arm and tugging it away as she chanted _wake up, wake up, wake up_. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, and sat up. "Where's Tate?" If I was going to suffer sleep deprivation so was he.

"I don't know, he left _forever_ ago. He took me downstairs to help Grandma Vivien put up decorations while he went shopping." She trilled out as she pulled me out of bed.

Once I got her dressed for the day I sent her back downstairs so I could do the same. I was halfway through getting dressed when Tate walked in and stood shell-shocked in the doorway because I was only wearing a skirt and bra. "Sorry." He muttered, but didn't take his eyes off me.

"Stop looking at my tits." I smirked.

"Stop showing them off." He sounded like his tongue was swollen in his mouth, and I liked that I still could have that effect on him. He snapped out of it when I pulled my shirt on. "I brought home coffee." He lifted up the cup of Starbuck's proudly, like he'd gone to South America and harvested the beans himself.

I took it from his hands gratefully. "I love you." I said with a moan after my first sip before handing it back to him and digging around behind the dresser where I'd stashed my nanny money.

"Jesus." Tate hissed. "You have, what? Ten thousand dollars here?"

"A little over nine actually. But five hundred a week, plus bonuses for the nights they went out... it adds up when you only have one day a year to spend it. Oh yeah, and when they were in San Diego they doubled my pay for those three days since I had to stay around the clock."

Tate watched me sullenly as I counted a thousand out. "You're not going to need all that." His voice was a little offended. It was kinda cute. "I have plenty for this Halloween; save that for next year."

"Just in case." I shrugged, shoving it in my bag and putting the rest back where it belonged. One last check to make sure we had everything we'd need and we went downstairs, collecting Emma on the way out the door; she was thrumming with excitement as we buckled her into the backseat and drove away from the Murder House for our one day of freedom.

* * *

We blended in well with the crowds once we got there, looking a little younger than we should maybe, but not so young as to be unbelievable. Mostly it was parents with kids about Emma's age since Halloween fell on a school day this year. I had never been to Disneyland before, so I was watching just as wide-eyed as Emma as we rode the tram to the front gates, Tate's arm slung around my shoulders as Emma sat on my lap.

Once we were inside we rented a stroller for when Emma got tired later and let her lead us around and pick out the rides. The entire place was bedecked in Mickey Mouse shaped pumpkins and fake spiderwebs even though the Halloween party wasn't supposed to start until after dark.

We went to Neverland first in a flying ship, then Wonderland on the back of a pink caterpillar. She loved the Alice in Wonderland ride so much we bought her the costume for later when she'd get to trick-or-treat in the park. We rode on Casey Jr.'s circus train and took a spin in a Teacup before she drug us to Small World. Tate smiled at me sympathetically over her head when we got stuck in a pile-up of boats and spent twenty unmoving minutes being subjecting to creepy singing puppets.

A crazy ride through the English countryside to Toad Hall, a boat through Storybook Land and we moved to another area of the park, stopping at the petting zoo hidden away in a corner. Emma was thrilled with being able to pet goats and sheep; all the barnyard animals she'd only seen in books because no one had taken her to a petting zoo before. She was so fond of a white goat with black tipped ears that she kissed its nose and waved to it when we left.

We walked slowly, enjoying the relative emptiness of the park. "A lot has changed." Tate said, looking around.

"How long has it been since you've been here?"

"I was fourteen, my junior high came here for graduation, all the junior high's did. So... thirty years? Something like that. Splash Mountain." He pointed to the ride we were passing "Wasn't even open yet. Everyone was really excited for it though, I remember that." We crested a small hill and there was a huge white mansion. "That's the Haunted Mansion." Tate smiled at me, he knew I was looking forward to it. The irony was too good to pass up.

"Later. I want to wait until it's dark out."

"Is it really haunted?" Emma asked excitedly.

Tate scooped her up in his arms. "Of course it's haunted, Em. There are nine hundred and ninety-nine ghosts living there."

"How do they all fit?"

"It's a lot bigger than our house."

After a ride to the Hundred Acre Woods Tate insisted we go on Pirates of the Caribbean, even though it was early afternoon already and I was more inclined to get lunch first.

"Like the movie!" Emma exclaimed as she walked between us, one hand in mine, the other in Tate's. He looked at me quizzically.

"They made it into a movie; three or four actually, last I knew."

We were once again floating along in boat, and Tate pointed over the side, where a restaurant bordered the artificial shore. "We're going to eat lunch over there, Em." He smiled at her, before looking up at me. "I finally get to take your mommy out for a nice meal." He added quietly, and I avoided meeting his eye by looking a pitch black gaping hole that was slowly drawing closer; each boat in front of us disappearing in the roar of water and screams.

"Tate." I said warily.

"It's fine. Little drop."

Too soon we were descending down a hidden ramp in a rush of air before landing safely in another river of water. Emma was giggling, relieving me of the fear that she'd be scared to tears by it. We floated through Port Royal and Tortuga, Emma gleefully singing along to the animatronic pirates as they pillaged villages and shot at each other.

We emerged into a maze of the Disney approximation of New Orleans' French Quarter, and Tate guided us over The Blue Bayou restaurant, sitting Emma on his lap and making funny faces at her while we waited for a table. It was beautiful nighttime landscape inside, lit by candles on the table and hanging from the ceiling. Everything felt muffled, far away; you'd never know you were in an amusement park in the middle of sunny Southern California. It was a place that made you want to speak in muted voices for fear of breaking the spell.

Tate dissolved into paroxysms of ecstasy with the first bite of his Monte Cristo sandwich. "God, I forgot how good those are." He said, savoring every bite. I had to admit, they were amazing; who knew dipping a turkey, ham, and swiss cheese sandwich in batter, deep frying it, and dusting it with powdered sugar would be so good?

I looked around as I ate, enjoying the space and it's piped in music of frogs croaking while fake fireflies danced on the ceiling. It was nice, romantic without being cliche, and I could see why he wanted to bring me here. But the best part was that he didn't make a big deal of it; we talked and joked and doted on Emma just like we would if we were at a McDonald's.

After lunch we took the pontoon boat over to Tom Sawyer island and let Emma run through the caves that dotted it until she got tired, finding a secluded corner with a bench and plenty of shade eventually. She didn't want to take a nap, but we wouldn't be home for hours and I knew she'd need it, so I made her sit in the rented stroller and 'rest'.

I let him drape an arm across my shoulders and hold me there as we watched her sleep, the ducks in the man-made river quacking in protest every time the big paddle boat went by. She woke with a yawn and a stretch ready to direct us around the park like a little princess, telling us imperiously that she wasn't tired and didn't need the stroller anymore. We kept it anyway.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Emma didn't seem to tire, never getting enough of the rides. As the hours wore on Tate seemed to grow more affectionate, or maybe just more bold in his affections. He kept a hand against my back as I pushed the stroller through the park and an arm snaked around me as we waited in lines. I didn't mind. I knew he was happy, just like I was, that we could have a day untainted by sadness, or fear, or anger. I just hoped he realized today was different, special; tomorrow the same shit that haunted us would still be there.

When the sun started to sink below the horizon I ducked into a bathroom to dress Emma up as Alice, her costume more Tim Burton than classic Disney, but I liked that. This, more than any other part of our day, was about her. I wanted her to have a special Halloween, but I wanted her to do the same things every kid gets to do too. From what she told me she never got to celebrate it before; her parents were too busy partying to do anything with her, and her last nanny thought Halloween was 'the Devil's birthday', whatever that meant.

She was radiating happiness when we walked out of the bathroom, and for the first time ever I felt proud, like a mom, as I watched her. I couldn't stop looking at her, how happy she was, walking between Tate and I as the Halloween festivities kicked into high gear. The park was lit up eerily with orange and purple lights as banks of phantom fogs drifted around.

We went all around the park, following the Trick or Treat Trails until her bag was filled to the brim, stopping occasionally so she could meet Donald Duck dressed as a pirate or let Tinkerbell sprinkle fairy dust over her. Finally, when we were on the correct side of the park again, we got in line for the Haunted Mansion, only having to wait a few minutes before we were ushered into the eerie southern mansion.

I picked Emma up so she'd be able to see more than people's legs as we entered the first stage of the ride, a room that seemed to stretch the longer you stood in it. The grim looking attendant shouted for everyone to clear the center of the room and Tate wrapped his arms around us, pulling me against his chest as he moved us back to the wall.

I should have been paying more attention to the ride, considering I'd never been on it before, but the only thing I could register was the way my spine fitted against his chest as he held me. How his breath turned from gentle to ragged next to my ear at the contact. I closed my eyes, feeling like I was melting into him as he held me there. And then there was a loud crash of thunder and screams, and my eyes flew open just in time to see a skeleton illuminated in its flash, suspended from the ceiling.

I hadn't even noticed the lights had gone out until they came back on and the doors slid open to reveal a long hallway lined with pictures that seemed to move and morph as you looked at them. We squeezed into a Doom Buggy and drifted our way through the darkened halls of the great mansion looking down on a ghostly dinner party, listening to Madame Leota's sinister predictions, and taking in a graveyard party before we were faced with mirrors that reflected hitchhiking ghosts, making Emma scoot onto my lap to make room for our portly, blue toned guest.

We trooped back to the center of the park for the big finale, the fireworks show. Jack Skellington's face rose above the castle like a giant moon, his dog Zero flying around before the first fireworks burst orange and purple against the night sky. Emma watched with rapt attention as the fireworks bloomed in the sky, flashing us in a rainbow of colors, and covering her ears when they burst in a rapid tattoo but smiling. After the last boom her face fell. "It's over?" She pulled away from Tate to look at his face, suddenly sad.

He nodded and she nestled her face against his neck as his hand found mine to lead us out of the park, and back to the car. She was asleep by the time we got there, and we settled her in the back seat, covering her with a blanket. It was late and we were weary, and as we felt our day of freedom coming to a close it was like the nets of our problems were closing in on us again, subtly.

"Do you feel like going home yet?" Tate asked, staring straight ahead the whole time, nervous.

"No."

* * *

"How do you like your fries? Crispy?"

"Yeah."

Tate leaned out the window to the speaker. I caught a few words here and there, 'animal style' and 'well done' among them. We waited in the long line of cars stretching out to into the street despite the late hour. As soon as the cardboard tray was through the window he shoved a handful of fries in his mouth and pulled into a parking spot. He was watching me avidly as I took my first bite. "Oh my god."

"Yeah." He said around a mouthful of food. "See why I come here every Halloween?"

I would have replied, but I was too busy stuffing my face to speak. For a short time there was nothing but the sounds of the paper wrapped around our food crinkling, chewing, and Emma's soft snoring in the backseat. "That's the best cheeseburger I've ever had."

Tate smiled at me. "It is. I don't care what anybody says In & Out Burgers are the best." He rubbed his stomach appreciatively before reaching for a tray of fries covered in cheese, grilled onions, and thousand island dressing. I looked at it suspiciously as he held the tray out to me. "Try them." He urged and I finally relented with a roll of my eyes.

Two bites in I took the tray from him and slapped at his hand when he wanted more. "Have the 'well done' ones." He groaned and I relented. "Jesus, how come I never heard of this place?"

"Because you're not from here." He said simply. "But they're all over Southern California, and to someone who grew up here In & Out is like a religion and we're all devotees." I watched over his shoulder as a steady stream of people came away from the small building clutching paper bags and trays like junkies scoring their fix. "Can I say something without pissing you off?"

My eyes drifted back to find him watching me. "I guess."

"This, us, it's easier with her here." He nodded over his shoulder to Emma.

"Maybe." I hedged.

"No, not 'maybe', it is." He said firmly. "She's your perfect excuse you know?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"She gives you a reason to keep me around but not be with me."

"That's bullshit." I snapped, digging around in my bag for my cigarettes and lighting one.

"Please, if you didn't want me around I wouldn't be, and don't tell it's punishment; we both know if you really wanted to punish me you'd to 'go away' again." I glared at him. "And every time I try to remind you that you can have both of us all I hear in response is that there's too much going on with her, and you can't think about anything else. That might have been true a couple months ago but it's not anymore."

"I don't want to talk about this."

"Of course you don't. Just remember that you spent today with both of us, and you were happy." I felt like putting my cigarette out on his face. Instead I flicked it out the window and crawled in the backseat with Em.

The ride home was tense and silent, and when we exited the last freeway I crouched down on the floor just in case his fan club was hanging around the house. "What are you going to do?"

"Run; lead them away from the car and house so you can get her inside." His voice was clipped.

I remembered that first Halloween, when I thought he was alive, and how scared I was when they chased after him. "What were you shopping for this morning?" I asked, trying to dispel the nervous knot in my stomach.

"Christmas and her birthday; I wanted to make sure she had something to unwrap."

"You didn't have to do that."

"I know, but I wanted to."

Before I could respond I heard his harsh inhale as the car slowed, and his muttered _shit_. He took a harsh turn and slammed on the brakes, jostling me around, before he cut the engine and hopped out. I waited, hardly daring to breathe as his footsteps disappeared and I heard yelling, first his voice, than others, before I heard people running away. I raised up, looking out the window to find myself in Constance's driveway.

They were long gone as I walked down the silent street. Emma stirred awake, pulling herself away from my shoulder to look around, bewildered. "Where's daddy?" She asked innocently, and I gawked at her, before telling her he had to go do something. Once I got her in bed I retreated to my own room, sitting heavily on my bed as my head swam with everything that had happened, trying to cudgel itself into accepting things I didn't want to.

* * *

It was nearly dawn when I heard footsteps coming down the hall and watched through the open door as Tate looked in Emma's room, watching her sleep from the doorway. I called out his name softly, and he turned following my voice into my room and sitting on the bed next to me. I reached out, taking his hand in mine, and he looked down at it; shocked that for the first time I'd touched him instead of him touching me.

"You were right... about Emma. Her being here... I've been using it as a way to avoid what happened between us. It's more than that though. I worried that if I had you again I wouldn't need her, and I couldn't bear to hurt her that way." I sighed, squeezing my fingers gently around his. "But that's the answer too. I love her, and I can't hurt her, and it's not a choice between you; I love you both, differently and intensely."

I pulled against his hand, drawing his face closer to mine, so I could reach up and trace its curves and planes. "You protect the things you love without thinking, it's instinctual. The way you protected me from those freaks who tried to kill me... the way you protected me and Emma during the earthquake. I don't think you were wrong to... make sure Emma stayed here." I couldn't force the word 'kill' off my tongue, not now. "I think she was meant to be mine, and when it wasn't enough that the house pushed me out to show me that, you did. I can't keep punishing you for what you did for Nora when I'm no better." He moved his lips to protest, but I placed my fingers over them. "No, it's true."

His eyes were watching me closely, boring into mine with an intensity that was familiar and missed. "When you talk about Emma though you always say that she's mine... don't you want her to be yours too?" The air between us was perfectly still as he looked down at me, his hesitancy conveying his sincerity.

"I do." He said softly. "But she doesn't want me like she wants you."

I frowned, not wanting to give away how wrong he was because I needed to know. "Does that change things?"

"No."

"Tate." I said carefully, choosing my words with care because this was the most important thing I'd ever said. "It's not just me anymore. If you want me, she's part of that. And the things between us... there are going to be days when it's painful, it's not going to be magically perfect. I want you though; I want the future to be 'us' and not 'you and me and Emma'."

I waited, hardly daring to breath, as his silence stretched on, his expression closed off before he dropped his gaze and I felt his body shudder around the sob he was trying to suppress. I slid my hands up to his shoulders, guiding him, so that I could lay behind him with my arms around him, holding him through the pain of pieces of him that had been broken fitted back together.

I pressed my lips against the back of his neck, murmuring _I love you _against his skin; his hand tightening around mine in reply. I let my eyes close, preferring to feel him against me. His muscles were tense, stretched tight over his frame as he laid there. I could feel his tears dripping down onto my hand that was wrapped in his, his lips brushed against my knuckles over and over.

He jolted back into me and opened my eyes to see Emma standing next to the bed, looking worried, her hand outstretched. "Daddy?" She asked questioningly, alarmed by his crying. He pushed himself up, wiping at his wet cheeks before fitting his hands under her arms and lifting her onto the bed between us. "Why are you crying?" Her voice sounded panicked.

His lips pushed up into a watery smile. "I'm like you, I get cranky and start crying when I'm tired."

"Do not." She said crossley, as she settled between us, but he tickled her side, and making her smile before she sighed and closed her eyes to go back to sleep. His fingers twined through mine where they rested on Emma's back because life goes on even in the face of tragedy, and now we had something good between us that we could focus on, on the bad days; a bridge over an ocean of pain to keep us from drowning in it.

* * *

**Notes, notes, lots of notes:**

- I was fascinated by the idea that Violet would fall in love in the same manner that Tate fell for her, just in a different way. That someone could come into the house that was meant to be hers, and eventually because of it she'd get a new understanding of Tate and the struggles he went through, and through that she'd start to forgive him. For me that has always been what this story was about; even though there's an 'original character', at its heart this is a Violate story.

- The things that Tate and Ben say to her are often times the most honest assessment of what's going on because for once she's not being the brutally honest mirror for the people around her. To a degree she acknowledges the morality of her desires as wrong, but only to a degree; there are things that she's unwilling to accept because it compromises the position of power from being the moralistic one, until she can't ignore or dismiss them anymore.

Moving on to lighter subjects...

- The Secret Garden hugely influenced this. Emma, but especially her parents were based on Mary Lennox and her parents (if you really wanted to get into it Violet and Tate show aspects of Martha & Dickon).

- Disneyland. The Haunted Mansion... I mean how could I not? I also thought it was nice to flesh out Tate's history a little bit because most Junior High Schools in Los Angeles do in fact go there for graduation. In & Out Burger was another 'had to do it' because we Angelino's are pretty opinionated and loyal about it.

- I'm not even going to lie, I might come back to this fic at some point because I loved writing it so much. I'm having a really hard time getting it out of my head so it might be sooner rather than later, but I'd like to finish a few others things I've got in the works, including a fourth chapter to _Touching From a Distance_, which is started, but far from finished. And I'd still like to get back to _Beat The Devil's Tattoo_ and expand that a bit at some point.

So... yeah. I hope everyone enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it, and as always reviews are loved and appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Apologies, but this chapter was never what I wanted it to be, and it was driving me up a wall. Some of the scenes are old, some are new, some are changed. The missing scene at the end is the new beginning of chapter four, which I'll be posting tomorrow or Wednesday, and then I'm going on hiatus for AHS (though I do have a 5th chapter for this partially written I will try and finish it since it's set several years in the future and deals most w/ Michael).

* * *

It was my hand sweeping out and finding nothing but empty sheets that woke me up with a start. For one heart-stopping minute I thought Violet had changed her mind and disappeared with Emma in tow, and then I heard them in the room across the hall.

I crept out, tiptoeing across the floor and leaning against the doorway. Violet had spread all of Em's candy across the play table, and looked to be sorting it into piles. "It's not enough." She pleaded, her voice threatening tears and a tantrum.

"Yes, it is." Violet said, scooping some of the candy into a bowl and the rest back into the bag. I shifted against the door, accidentally calling attention to myself when the floor squeaked. Violet gave me a quick smile over her shoulder, but Emma shot out of her chair and into my arms.

When I picked her up she buried her face against me. "Mommy's being mean." She pouted, silently. And even though we were apparently in the middle of a childhood crisis, mean Mommy and all, all I wanted to do was hold her until my arm fell off. She'd never have to walk again if she didn't want to.

"What's she doing?" I asked, equally silent.

"I wanna take some candy to Margaret and Angie for our tea party, and she won't give me enough for all of us, and we have lots."

"I know Em, but we're not going to get anymore for a long time. She just wants to make sure you have some later." I was pretty sure that Violet had made the same point three or four times to little effect.

"I just want a little more." She whined.

I sighed, kissing her fragile little shoulder before I carried her over to the table and scooped up a big handful as Violet rolled her eyes at me. "No more for today, okay?"

"Okay." She said cheerfully, and audibly now that she'd gotten her way. "Thanks Daddy." She was already wiggling her way out of my arms and back down to the floor, greedily taking the bowl of candy from Violet and hugging it to her chest, totally oblivious to the fact that I was grinning like a fool. Daddy; it rolled off her tongue like it was nothing at all, like she'd always called me that.

"Em, ask Daddy if he can spell 'sucker'." Violet cracked as she went to put the candy away in the top shelf of her closet.

Emma looked from me to her, her face scrunched up in concentration before I hooked my hands under her shoulders and lifted her up, pecking a quick kiss to her nose and setting her down again. "Go play."

Violet and I watched from the window a minute later when she walked out the back door, joining Margaret and Angie in the gazebo.

"Daddy." Violet's eyes flicked up to mine for a second and then back out the window. I tried to hide the smile on my face, but she didn't miss it out of the corner of her eye. "Weird?"

"Yeah." I leaned against the wall on the other side of the window. "Nice though, too."

"Scared?"

"Of?"

"_Daddy_."

"No."

"You should be." Her moment of amusement was passed, and she was hunched in on herself once again, looking at me apprehensively.

"Why?"

"It changes things."

"How? I mean we've been taking care of her for months, even before she died. That doesn't change. The stuff between us, yeah, but not with her."

"And if the stuff between us doesn't change? Is this going to be enough?" She shifted, looking back out the window, her voice soft and musing. "She wants you forever Tate, or her idea of forever. It's a lot to take on. I just want to know you won't get bored in a few years, or get frustrated that she has to come first."

I thought we'd settled this already. I thought she knew that's what I wanted too, that I understood what was involved. I felt panic grip me that in the few hours I'd been asleep since we talked this morning she'd changed her mind and was looking for any sign of indecision from me as a way out. "I promise-"

"Don't promise me anything." She snapped, eyes flashing dangerously, and I knew what was really going on here.

Very unwillingly she let me reel her in and fold her against me. "Stop pushing me away, Vi. You want me, you want 'us', putting up walls and pushing me away is going guarantee you get hurt." I could feel how taut her muscles were, how angry she was at being called out on this, but she needed to hear it. "I'm not going to promise you anything if that's what you want, but don't do this." I finished gently.

She sighed, long and heavy, and all the fight seemed to go out of her. "Some days I'm not going to want you to touch me, or talk to me; I might not want to even see you."

"I know." I did, and it still hurt like a knife in the gut, but if it was my penance for what I'd done, I could bear it. "Can I touch you and talk to you today?"

"Yeah."

"Good." I said simply. "I missed you, and this."

"Me too."

"This or me?"

"Both."

She let me lead her downstairs, let me sling an arm around her shoulders as we walked through the bottom floor of the house. A few of the other ghosts openly gawked at us because it was one thing for me to 'pretend' to Emma to get Violet back, but it was another to have the girl they'd pinned their hopes of punishing me forever on believe me.

"That was fun." Violet muttered as we walked out the backdoor, waving to Em before spreading an old blanket under the tree that had been home to the nest of baby birds I'd shown her that first day.

We lay there talking, watching Fall settling around us in banks of crispy leafs and a chilling breeze pushing perfect fluffy clouds across the sky. It was easy to touch her, to hold her. It was just simple affection, the feel of her under my hands and hers on me, but it was more loving than volumes of words could ever be. I would destroy worlds for this alone.

Emma flitted over after a while, begging to 'fly'. I wanted to keep them like this, carefree and happy, forever. I would do or give anything for it, and I promised them that silently as we lay there laughing.

Their happiness was infectious, with Em smiling down at us like she didn't have a care in the world while she rested on top of Violet's bent legs, her own arms and legs waving around. Vi gently lowering her back to earth so she could stalk a butterfly that caught her attention.

Violet's cheeks were flushed from laughing, the ghost of a smile still playing on her lips as Emma ran off. She looked so content, like she had everything she ever wanted, and I guessed she did, really. It made me ache for her though; made me want to cover her body with my own and do sweet, tender things to her that would make her moan and whimper.

It wasn't lust, not exactly anyway. It was something softer, something less easily defined. I packed it up and stored it away, knowing it was too soon to touch Violet like that, but one day I would show her, one day I would make her feel all the things I felt but didn't have words for as I watched her with Emma.

She walked towards us, a triumphant smile on her lips, and her hands carefully cupped in front of her as she knelt down. They opened to reveal a small white butterfly in her palm; it lazily flapped its wings for a moment before it took flight. I smiled up at her, impressed by her cleverness.

"How did you catch it Em?" Violet asked.

"I followed her and made friends." She said simply, before squirming her way between us.

It wasn't perfect despite what it looked like but maybe, one day, it would be.

* * *

Ben had always been afraid of his fierce little girl, just a little bit. Scared of what she would say or think of him because she would always see through his bullshit. Always aware that the patient, fatherly exterior concealed the struggle inside him between the level-headed adult, and violent adolescent boy that still resided under his skin, because like he said, he and I weren't that different.

And it was that as much as pacifying Vivien with his careful passivity to me and Violet being back together that had kept him from dragging my ass to the basement to dismember me like he did when she was away, or joining in the jeers of Chad and Hayden about the monster of the house turning into a big fluffy bunny.

But he had his limits, and knowing I'd spent every night of the last week curled around Violet in her bed finally made him snap. So he unleashed his venom in the one venue he felt totally safe, because here, in his office nothing was off limits, nothing was too personal.

"You love Emma because Violet loves her; you hate Michael because Violet hates him. You're a psychopath Tate, you only care about what people can do for you. You want Violet to love you again so you're using her daughter and your son to those ends." He smiled smugly because I wasn't that different from him, and if there was one thing that pissed us both off it was attacking the people we loved.

I knew he was just praying for me to snap and throw a punch so he'd have all the reasons he needed to unleash his rage in a literal, visceral way he felt he couldn't without the excuse of self-defense, but knowing that didn't mean it didn't piss me off. It just meant that I was going to push him as far as I could without giving him what he wanted because if he was going to be an asshole then so was I.

"That's funny considering you're the one who told Violet that I wasn't using Emma to get back together with her."

I couldn't help smirking at the way his face hardened, hating that I was using his words against him. "My only concern," he seethed, "is the happiness of my family. I said what I said because it was what I needed to say to make sure Violet stayed here, and that she was happy."

"So you lied to her?"

"Yeah, I did, and I regret it. I regret it probably more than you regret raping my wife. And me telling her that you're a psychopath who's using her daughter to get back in her good graces is going to hurt a lot less than when you bail on them both, like we all know you will. Do you think she'll forgive you when you fail her - again?"

He took a long drag off his cigarette. "But I'm not going to tell her that. Some lessons in life you can only learn first-hand, and unfortunately I think that's what it's going to take for her to realize you're never going to change, that given enough time you're always going to hurt her. And this time, I don't think she'll forgive you. If you hurt Emma you're done."

"Just like you hurt her and Vivien?"

He glared at me, jaw clenching as he chewed over the words he was dying to spit out.

"No, you won't say anything for the same reasons that you won't take me down to the basement and kill me like you did when she wasn't here, the same reason you 'lied' in the first place. You and her mother were never enough. Never enough to keep her safe, or happy, and maybe she hasn't forgiven me - maybe I don't deserve it -, but if you try to come between us she won't pick you, not this time."

I leaned forward, flexing my fingers rhythmically in case I needed to fit them around Ben's neck and squeeze until the light behind his eyes went out before I finished. "If there's one thing I really hate it's a hypocrite." I said lightly."I didn't see you mourning for Hayden's baby. You harp on about how I can't love Violet, or I only love Emma because Violet loves her, and using Constance's miracle baby as proof of that, but you didn't have a problem killing Hayden's baby - your baby."

"Larry killed her, not me."

"No shit, I was talking about the abortion she didn't go through with. Just because your wife didn't hear those conversation doesn't mean I didn't."

"You mean you didn't spend every free second invisibly stalking Violet?"

I shrugged. "I wanted to have something against you if it came to that. Not really the point though. You didn't want that baby. You hated Hayden for getting pregnant, would have hated the baby if it was born because it would have cost you Vivien and Violet."

"That's not true." His voice was brittle and I knew I hit closer to the mark than he'd ever admit.

"You're not any better or different than me. I love Emma the way you love your kids with Vivien. That little shit next door was a means to an end. I don't have any paternal feelings towards him, and I wouldn't mourn his loss, just like you didn't with Hayden's baby."

"We're done." He said through his teeth.

I slammed the door behind me, smirking, and nearly walking into Pat who was waiting for his 'session' to start. As I walked up the stairs I wondered idly if Ben and Pat had progressed from dick sucking to ass fucking over the years. Violet would probably know; the one benefit of being part of the house was that you knew everything that went on inside it. But talking about her dad exploring his sexuality probably wasn't a topic she was comfortable discussing.

I peeked into Emma's room and she was still fast asleep, just like Vi and I had left her a few hours earlier. Violet had a book propped up on her stomach when I flopped on the bed next to her. "I hate to say 'I told you so'," she started.

"You love to say 'I told you so'."

"Yeah, I do. So...?"

"I don't think we'll be having another session anytime soon."

"What did he say?"

"That I didn't love you and Em; that I'm using her. That I'd hurt you again."

She nodded more to herself than to me. "What did you do?"

"I didn't kill him if that's what you're thinking."

"It wasn't."

I sighed. This was still so new I was worried fighting with Ben might have crossed a line with her, but lying to her about it was out of the question, if for no other reason than Ben would love to use it against me.

She reached out, gently tracing her fingers across my lips. "You don't have to tell me." She said softly, "I know you talk about the things I'd rather not hear about." _Like Michael_, she left unsaid.

I grabbed her wrist, keeping her hand against me. "It wasn't just him being an asshole. Sitting there and picking at me over you and Em... I fucking hate it, and yeah I didn't hit him, but I'm not some saint either."

I watched with apprehension as she chewed on her lip, knowing she steeling herself to say something, but not knowing if it was good or bad. It was probably going to be bad. "I hated watching him kill you. I'm glad you didn't just sit there and let him be an asshole. I like that you fought back; I wish you had before."

The room suddenly felt airless. She had been there, all those times Ben tore me apart in the most creative and painful ways he could imagine. I let them do it because it was easier dealing with that than Violet not being there. And even when there were unwilling tears of pain leaking down my face I never cried out, never tried to stop them, because through the pain I went someplace happier.

A place where Violet came out of the shadows and her delicate fingers would caress my cheek; where she brushed her lips against mine. A place where she did all the things I did as I watched her die and live and die again in the months before she disappeared. The best times, the times that made it all worthwhile, were the times on that wonderful brink of wakefulness when I was sure I could feel the warm weight of her hand in mine.

It felt so real, but I never believed it was. I thought it was just a beautiful, wonderful hallucination. As I lay there with the feel of her hand in mine I'd imagine opening my eyes and seeing her there, waiting for me. I'd imagine how I'd sit up and put my arms around her, holding her against me and never letting go again. Even in my imagination it wasn't perfect, but one day it would be, because it would be the start of another forever; one where she still loved me.

But she was never there when my eyes inevitably did open, and my hand was left clutching at empty air.

"You were really there?" I choked out.

"Yeah."

"Why?" I could barely get the word out, and I wasn't even entirely sure what I was asking.

"You looked so broken, Tate, that night I said goodbye." She sniffed, brushing away tears.

"Every time I closed my eyes that was all I saw. And one day I just couldn't deal with it anymore, and when killing myself over and over didn't make it go away I faded out. But I was still loved you, still hated watching them do that to you."

I didn't have an answer for that, so instead I pulled her close, and just like the day after Halloween we said more with the feel of our lips and hands on each other than words could ever convey. But before she fell asleep I had to know, had to ask if she believed that I loved her and Emma, that I wouldn't hurt her again.

She sighed heavily, and I felt panic flutter through me. "It's hard sometimes. I don't have words for how much you hurt me, there are none. But you could have let Emma go, just like you said. It would have been so much easier for you if you had. On the bad days I remember that, I think about all the things you've done since she got here, and even if I feel like I can't trust your words, I can trust you actions."

* * *

Vivien wasn't above asking me to do her dirty work, but that didn't mean she wanted me around any more than necessary, so while her and Violet and Emma commiserated downstairs I went to visit Beau.

After I read him the contents of a newspaper that was sixty years old he ambled over to his cot, curling up and falling asleep in seconds. I descended the stairs, following the sound of water to the open bathroom door.

"What are you doing?"

Violet twisted around to look at me from where she was sitting on the lip of the bathtub. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

I walked over, peering into the bathtub partially filled with water and bubbles around her feet. "You're such a girl." I said, sitting down next to her and knocking into her shoulder playfully.

"And you're such a boy." She pushed back.

"Where's Em?"

"Still downstairs with my mom and Chad. They're planning a Christmas party." Violet didn't sound thrilled about it, and I could just imagine how that happened. Someone had probably used the magic words: _Emma will love it_.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to leave her with Chad?" She looked questioningly at me over her shoulder from where she was bent double, scrubbing at her feet.

I got up, closing the door and rounding on her. "I don't trust him." I said flatly. "He'd tell her how she died just to shit all over our happiness, just like he told you about... the things he told you."

"First of all he doesn't know anything, and secondly you're overreacting. He won't say anything with my mom there."

"Don't blow this shit off Violet! The last time that fucking fairy opened his mouth you disappeared for a decade."

"No, Tate, I left because of the shit you did." It would have been better if she got angry, if she yelled at me. It wouldn't have hurt as much as the cutting coldness in her voice.

I stormed out before she could tell me to 'go away'.

I was sitting on Emma's bed later, looking down at her favourite stuffed animal clutched in my hand without really seeing it when Violet sat down next to me.

"You had to know it was a possibility that she'd find out what happened when you killed her." She said softly. "After everything, you had to know. We might not be able to protect her from it forever."

"I can't lose her too, Vi."

"You won't." She said gently.

"If she finds out, every time she looks at me all she'll see is a monster, just like you. How is that not losing her?"

"She might, for a while," she conceded, "but she'll also see a father who loves her. She'll come back, Tate, like I did."

"Have you? When you won't let me kiss you, is that you being back? When you push me off you when I try to touch you like I used to, is that you being back?" My voice should have been angry, but it was empty and emotionless.

"You raped my mom, Tate, so excuse me if I'm a little squeamish about having your dick inside me again," she snapped.

"Cut it off, stick it in a jar, it's always belonged to you anyway." I muttered.

She pushed herself up, moving away from me and into the rocking chair, absently pushing herself back and forth. "I wasn't lying earlier when I said I left because of the things you did, but it wasn't the whole truth either. The things I said that night after I talked to Chad…I was angry. I wanted to hurt you, like you were hurting me."

"It was easy before I found out about Chad and Pat, about my mom," she scoffed, "to love you because I let myself believe that however messed up you were in life, that it wasn't who you were anymore. And after I found out it was better to throw it all in your face, find some peace in hurting you, than to deal with how much I hated myself for believing you and your meaningless words about never hurting someone you love."

She was quiet for a moment, collecting her thoughts. "We always hurt the ones we love, but they hurt us too; they're the only ones who know our weaknesses." She pushed herself out of the chair. "I told you it wouldn't be easy, but I'm trying, Tate."

She brushed her hand against my cheek as she left, her admission a peace offering, just like her finding me had been before I'd let my fear sabotage it.

I disappeared to the attic when I heard her bringing Emma up to bed, wanting desperately to beg forgiveness for my latest fuck up, but not being able find the words. In the end I fell back on a tried and true apology, perfected by generations of men.

When Violet woke the next morning she would be face-to-face with a dozen perfect yellow roses edged in vivid pink. I knew it wasn't enough, but I hoped it would at least please her the trouble I went through to get them; out in the yard in the middle of the night, hooking each one on a wire hanger and pulling to our side of the fence so I could cut and collect it.

I propped my note, scrawled across the back of the picture I'd found in her box right after Emma moved in, against it, and withdrew from the room as quietly as I could not wanting to wake her up.

The picture wasn't perfect anymore because it was lacking something very important, but I hoped it would be able to convey the meaning of the words I'd printed carefully across the back:

_In Greek mythology humans were created with four arms, four legs, and two faces._

_Fearing their power Zeus split them into two separate beings, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves._

_I know I don't deserve you. I know I never did. But if you give me another chance, I'll try to._

Surprisingly it wasn't Violet who made me feel worse in the morning than I had the night before, it was Emma.

She was so happy to see me after my absence the night before she refused to leave my side, and dissolved into floods of tears when we tried to put her to sleep in her own bed. I had to fight the urge to cry with her; a battle I lost once she was asleep and Violet told me how scared Emma had been that I wouldn't come back, just like the Cooper's.

It was worse though because she never cried for them. I had hurt her.

* * *

Saying the word 'Christmas' to a five year old is basically the same as giving them a breakfast of Pixie Stix and coffee. It was a lesson I learned the hard way.

"Em, sit still. I can't brush your hair if you keep wiggling around." My scolding worked for about thirty seconds. When Vivien roused Violet at the crack of dawn to drag her downstairs to the kitchen to help with Christmas dinner, I'd assured Violet with absolute confidence that I could manage the same routine she went through every morning with Emma. Now I understood why she wished me luck.

"Emma, c'mon." I implored, before shackling an arm around her waist and holding her firmly where she sat. Finally, after tying her shoes and almost taking a foot to the face, she was ready to go. Not that I had much choice in the matter; a five year old is pretty much an unstoppable force when Mommy and presents are waiting downstairs.

After a quick kiss to Vi's cheek while she helped in the kitchen Emma shot off with Margaret and Angie playing tag through the bottom floor of the house, rain forcing the game to remain indoors. I went in search of some peace and quiet. Ben and Travis were talking in the living room, no doubt on duty to keep little hands from opening the presents under the tree until the proper time. I avoided them; the last thing anyone wanted was for Christmas to turn into a brawl.

I stretched out on the small couch in the den, thankful that the Cooper's still hadn't moved the furniture out, and were still paying the utilities so I could light the gas fireplace. I had my fingers pushed up into my hair trying to roughly measure the back of my skull to determine my capacity for philoprogenitiveness according to the phrenology book propped up on my knees when Emma raced in, Angie and Margaret close on her heels, looking for safety from being tagged 'it' in my arms.

I tossed the book aside; I didn't need a lump on my head to tell me I loved her. In the symphony of little girl shrieks I hadn't heard the clack of high heels across the hardwood. I suppose I should have expected it considering Vivien had conspired with her to get the food for dinner.

"So this must be Emma. Aren't you precious?" Margaret and Angie gave terrified squeaks and disappeared as I shot to my feet, half hiding Emma behind me as Constance watched from the doorway, a fixed smile plastered across her face. Em pressed herself into my side, wrapping her small arms around my waist just like I'd seen her do so often with Violet.

We had been hiding Emma for months. We knew it couldn't last forever, and we knew it was irrational since Constance couldn't do anything to hurt her, but neither one of us could stomach it. Luckily Em was more than willing to go along with it, once we told her Constance had killed Beau and Moira.

"Go in the kitchen with Mommy." I told her silently, keeping my eyes on Constance. I felt Emma disappear out from under the hand I had resting on her shoulder, and in her absence they fisted instinctively.

"She's adorable." Constance tried again, walking towards me and patting her hair into place like the half can of AquaNet she shellacked it with didn't keep it perfect. "Tragic when they die so young." I didn't say anything, just took a step back when she reached out to touch me. "You know Michael tells me he sees you and Violet in the backyard a lot... playing with her." She made the word sound like an expletive.

"What do you want Constance?" I asked harshly, never taking my eyes off her. It was the first time I'd seen her in years. She was old, older than I remembered. Wrinkling, and sagging, and graying, and old; all those years of smoking and drinking adding just as much wear and tear as seventy something years had.

"I must say I never thought you'd be one for parenthood; you've never even cared enough to see your son." She said evenly, and anyone who didn't know her wouldn't have seen that this was when she was at her most dangerous. When she wanted to yell and throw things she was angry. When she was like this, when she was cold and controlled she was murderous. Unfortunately at her age, though she still had the same strong will, her body was very, very breakable.

I was careful to put a hand over her mouth first so she couldn't scream. Careful to lift her an inch off the floor so she wouldn't make any noise as I carried her frail, withered husk out the front door, and ignoring the quizical look Violet shot me as she caught sight of us.

Once we made it to the edge of the property I set her on her feet, and got right in her face. I wanted to make sure she saw me when I informed her just how dangerous it was for a person her age to set foot on the property.

Even though she tried to keep her eyes hard and flinty, when we were nose to nose I could see the fear in them. The fear at finally seeing the monster that she and this house made me into; the one that Violet and Emma normally soothed and contained. It was the best Christmas gift she ever gave me.

**xxxx**

Ben's therapy really seemed to be helping Elizabeth; she only tried to feel me up a few times under the table as we ate Christmas dinner. Still it wasn't her creeping stockinged foot that had my attention. It wasn't even the riotous sounds of talking and laughter that only got louder the more bottles of wine that were drained, or the mountains of delicious food.

It was Violet with Emma on her lap next to me, chair flush with mine so Em could steal food off my plate with a cheeky, mischievous grin that so closely mimicked Vi's it perplexed me for a moment why her eyes weren't brown.

It was 'us' in our own little world despite the scene around us, bowed lovingly around Emma, laughing and smiling and happy. It was my free arm wrapped around Violet and her blush when I whispered 'I love you' in her ear and kissed her cheek. It was Emma tilting her face up to me expecting the same. It felt good, like family, like I always wanted family to feel.

It was easy to ignore the audience on the other side of the glass door as presents were opened around the Christmas tree; my willingness to make sure Emma stayed forever granting me absolution enough to be on the inside this time. It was even easy to ignore the people on the inside who put aside trivial and tragic that still lingered between us despite Ben and Vivien's efforts because I had other things to think about.

It still frightened Violet a little when Emma called her 'Mommy'. Even if she didn't tell me I knew it was because she was scared if she accepted what she was, Emma's mother, it would break her heart if Emma didn't want her anymore; keeping it at arm's length gave Violet the illusion she was protecting herself. 'Daddy' hadn't affected me in the same way, but 'family' was... different.

The word felt heavy, awkward. It made me feel like what I wanted most was to walk out the gates and run, and keep running forever. I tried to sift though the mess of emotions inside of me, trying to divine what exactly it was that had my body twitching and thumping, aching to flee because nothing and everything seemed to have changed.

I so focused on keeping my arms and legs still, trying to get a grip, to notice Emma scrambling up off the floor and picking her way through piles of discarded wrapping paper until she was crawling in my lap and locking her small arms around my neck. "Thank you, Daddy."

I looked into her bright, excited eyes for a moment, before pulling her close and closing my eyes. It made me calm, made the voices in my head shut up for long enough to realize I didn't know which gift she'd liked so much and I opened my eyes, intending to push her away a little and ask when I saw Vi watching, looking at me with so much tenderness that I for a heartbeat it hurt more than the torrent of bullets that ended my life.

I shuttered my eyes closed again, blocking out Violet looking at me like I wasn't a monster who killed without remorse, who raped her mother; like I hadn't killed the little girl nestled in my arms. She was looking at me like she used to, like she hadn't since she found out all the darkness I'd tried to protect her from.

I squeezed Em close and then let her go back to Violet and the happiness of the perfect gift in the form of a book about birds she didn't know she would love until the paper hiding it fell away.  
It wasn't the word 'family' that scared me. It wasn't even the reality of it because we'd been doing that for months. It was the idea that Violet and Emma wouldn't want that, not with me anyway.

Holding them at arms length wouldn't protect me from the pain they could inflict; it just gave the illusion of safety.

* * *

I supposed the champagne was traditional, but it wouldn't have been my first choice of alcohol to drink in the New Year, not least of which it spilled all over me when I opened it, making Violet snicker that I looked like I pissed myself.

"She still asleep?" I inquired as she pulled the button up shirt off my back with a smirk.

"Yep." She pulled the bottle from my hands, and took a few swallows before putting her back to me, shedding her clothes but doing it in the most modest way possible. When she turned back around she was threading the last of the buttons, and I nearly choked on lust seeing her in nothing but my shirt and knee high socks.

"Rummy?" She asked innocently.

"Sure." I plopped down on the rug, rummaging in a box of cassette tapes for something to listen to. Emma had been fascinated by them; as far as she knew music came from little handheld computers.

Mazzy Star started pouring out the speakers of the ancient boom-box Violet smiled. It was an album that came out a few years before she was born, but had been her favorite since I found it a few weeks ago. More than once I'd caught her softly singing Fade Into You when she thought no one was listening.

By the time midnight rolled around we both had enough alcohol in is that I thought it was pretty good idea to pull her up off the floor for a dance as Hope Sandoval crooned over a lazy blues rhythm. She must have too because she wrapped her arms around my neck, pressing her body against mine.

_She's my baby, she belongs to me_

_She's my baby, ain't that something?_

I whispered along with the lyrics in her ear as we swayed together, feeling her fingers twining in my hair, her breath seeping through my t-shirt, warm and damp against my skin.

_But she's like lightening_

_She goes right through you_

Her lips kissed a trail up my neck to my lips. It had happened a few times before, so it wasn't anything new, but it was still thrilled me. It was just a soft, insist press of her lips against mine at first. Soon enough though my hands slipped up under the hem of the shirt like they used to before everything went to shit.

_Then you know, you'll never_

_Be the same_

Her lips parted, letting me in, mocking ten years apart with the easy familiarity of it. We could just as easily been sneaking around trying not to get busted by her parents rather than worrying about traumatizing a five year old by catching Mommy and Daddy in the act.

I felt her hands curl into my shirt and pull it off before smoothing down my chest, around my side, and up my back, exploring, while I pulled us onto the bed.

I fingered the top button of her shirt. "Can I?"

"Yeah." She breathed out.

"Are you going to regret this tomorrow?"

"Maybe." She answered honestly.

"Are you going to disappear again?"

"No." She tipped her head against mine, and staring into the space where my fingers worked between us. She watched as I pushed the fabric out of my way, smoothed my hands up her sides and brushed my thumbs across her nipples, making them tight little buds. When I took one in my mouth, flicking at it with my tongue I felt a shudder roll through her, ending with my name tumbling past her lips.

Her pleasure was short lived though, and before long she let out a frustrated whine and moved my hand between her legs. I froze, knowing that touching her like this could be disastrous. She leaned over, flicking the bedside light off, and plunging us into darkness.

Maybe, if I was lucky, she'd let me claim 'diminished capacity' later because my blood starved brain wasn't up to forming coherent counter-arguments to the soaked panties I was confronted with, and I'd been dreaming about touching her like this for the better part of forever. Unlikely parent or not I was still a seventeen-year-old boy, and Violet had me by the dick from the moment I laid eyes on her.

I teased her, circling my fingers, pressing them against the fabric, making her pant into my mouth. I pushed aside the edge of her panties, running a finger along its path, silently asking for permission. She pulled away immediately, and my heart sank. I'd gone too far, I knew it.

"Not your fingers." Her voice was low and nervous, and it took me a minute to figure out exactly what she said because she wasn't saying 'no', she was giving me an option.

I gently twisted us around, laying her on the bed, kissing my way down until I was between her legs while her fingers played with my hair encouragingly. I tried to go slow, tried to ignore the anxiety that she'd change her mind and push me away, but I couldn't. She didn't stop me though, just moaned when I nipped at her through the fabric, and lifted her hips up as I slid her panties off, the only thought in my head that if I could keep her feeling good she wouldn't stop me. I pushed up the hem of the shirt to kiss and lick at the flesh between her hip bones, and then down to where she was wet and wanting.

I lapped at her teasingly before I buried my face against her bare, slick skin. I lapped at her, traced shapes around her clit, pushed my tongue inside of her, only pulling away every now and then to suck marks into the soft flesh of her thighs as she pushed her fingers inside herself. I would have happily done it, but she didn't want that, so I took the opportunity to sloppily push my pants down and stroke myself.

"I'm so close." She whispered. "Make me come, Tate." Hearing her say that - those words in that tone - was all I needed to cum. The vibration of her name off my tongue that I buried in her folds had her arching and keening, and another wave of wetness cascaded over my lips. I pulled away breathless, resting my face on her stomach.

"I love you," I panted. "I fucking love you so much," making her giggle.

She let me lay like that as our bodies cooled and our breathing slowed, pushing the damp hair off my forehead, twisting it around her fingers idly. She pushed me off eventually; closing the buttons on her shirt before she leaned over gave me a quick kiss before walking out for a minute to check on Emma before she settled back in my arms.

The lingering taste of her on my lips made it a little easier to think about how she'd turned the light off so she wouldn't have to look at me. How she was squeamish about me being inside of her; her words about thinking about how I touched her mother replaying over and over. With a latex mask on she could at least be certain that I hadn't gone down on Vivien.

It was a step in the right direction though, and if this was all I ever got I decided I didn't have much to complain about, not even when Em stumbled in a few hours later to curl into Violet's front while I did the same to her back, my arm stretching around both of them.

* * *

"Okay, Em. Ready?" Violet asked.

"Yeah." She was practically bouncing between us, one hand in Violet's, and the other hand in mine as we stood at one end the driveway.

"One... two... three!"

Emma ran as fast as she could, Violet and I jogging along with her as we raced towards the street. As soon as the toe of my Chuck's hit the sidewalk my vision blurred and we were running through the foyer.

"Again! Again! Again!" Emma chanted as she drug us back outside.

Violet and I went willingly. Anything to keep Emma happy, and listening to her giggle was better than listening to her sulk that we couldn't leave the house.

Despite Violet's declaration that I was going to be the one to explain to her that we were trapped here, she was the one who did it while I stood by gaping like an idiot, unsure if I could stomach watching Emma cry. But just like Violet did when we had the earthquake she turned it into a joke, a big game of us running as fast as we could and snapping back inside the house.

* * *

The power had gone out hours ago. I listened to the wind shrieking around the house, the occasional crash of a tree branch, and remembered being a child and cowering under my covers at the same sounds. It had been that long since we'd had a windstorm this bad. There was a particularly loud crash and Emma stirred slightly in my arms, where she was asleep against me, but didn't wake.

We were on the couch in the den, a heap of bodies and limbs, too comfortable with the lights out and gas fire burning to move even though everyone else was behind closed doors for the night. As midnight passed the wind howled even louder, and we heard doors slamming upstairs, feet pounding across the floor, and more doors slamming.

"Must be Lorraine's girls." Violet said, more to herself than me.

I looked down at Em, her lips parted a little and huffing out soft damp breaths against me. Even when she was awake she hadn't been afraid. She'd drug Vi and I out to the portico, a look of excitement on her face as she watched trashcans getting knocked over and trees whipped around in the wind. Even when Margaret and Angie had started crying silently when the power went out Emma still smiled.

"She's brave, like you." I said quietly to Violet. She looked embarrassed, even in the soft, flickering light of the fire, and tried to hide it by leaning over and brushing the hair out of Emma's face.

"You know, she's kinda the perfect kid." Violet said quietly as she rested her head against my shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I mean I didn't have go through morning sickness or labor pains, or get all fat or anything."

"I thought it bothered you that you didn't?"

"Not as much as it used to."

"Why not?"

"Because I see her real parents less and less, and us more and more."

"We are her real parents." I snapped. The Cooper's might have given her life, but we were the ones who brought her into _this_ world; we were the ones who loved and protected her while all they did was fail her. We were her parents.

"The longer she's here the more I catch myself thinking of her as my daughter."

"Because she is. You said it yourself; she was meant to be yours, and the house forced you out to show you that. Whether you share DNA or not, you're her mother."

"Do you really think the house is that benevolent?"

"I didn't, before you." I conceded.

"After?"

"We're all broken people, Vi. All fucked up. None of us would have lasted out in the world. You were always one breakdown away from suicide, just like I was always one away from mowing down my classmates. Even Em… how many more years would she have lived before she threw down handfuls of sleeping pills just like you? We're all life's discards, the unwanted. Now we have an eternity to get it right, to sort our shit out and have a shot at happiness. The house gives us opportunities, whether we fuck it up or not, it's up to us."

If Violet's silence meant that she was ruminating on the multitude of ways I'd fucked up forever her face didn't show it, and as I watched her the one question that had been plaguing me for months spilled past my lips. "Would you have come back, without her I mean?"

"Probably. It was getting harder to stay that way." She reached for Emma again, running a hand down her arm as she slept. "I couldn't believe you were gone, when I opened my eyes. And then after, you never tried to stop me, all those months I spent killing myself." Her voice was almost accusatory, but disbelieving and sad too.

"Is that what you wanted?"

"I don't know. I wanted to be dead, really dead, but I wanted to know you still cared." Her hands made little frustrated movements. "It never made sense, even to me, especially to me. But that's not really the point. I didn't know how to come back. I was still too hurt, too angry, until Emma."

She waited until the pain faded from my features before she asked in a nervous voice if I regretted making Emma stay now that I knew she would have come back eventually.

"No. I wonder sometimes if she came here before you if I would have kept her here."

"Would you have?"

"I think so. I love her too."

"You surprise me you know."

"Yeah?"

"I didn't think you'd want this with Em, but you do."

I leaned over, putting my lips to her ear, and whispering conspiratorially, "I look not forward with any pleasure to what is called being settled in the world; I tremble at domestic cares - yet for you I would meet them," and lacing my fingers into hers.

She rolled her eyes, "you're such a cliche." But I still saw the smile threatening to tug up her lips at my words. "Are you happy?" She asked after a while.

I considered her question carefully, and decided to tell her the truth. "Almost."

"Because things aren't fixed between us?"

"Yeah," I said uncertainly, but my tone caught her attention and she looked up at me questioningly.

"It scares you when Emma call you 'mom' - I can see it, even if no one else does. It scares me when I think of us as a family. I mean it's what we are, really, if you think about it." I said nervously, "I just expect you to wake up one day and realize that, and not want it, at least with me anyway."

"Who else would I have it with?"

"That's not what I mean. When you died I swore to myself that I'd love you and take care of you, that I'd make you happy. With Em here... you don't need me."

"I don't like the idea of needing you. I need air, and food, and shelter, or I did before I died. I want you because you're my choice, not my necessity."

"T-Tate?" Nora stuttered from the doorway, stepping inside as our eyes snapped to her. "Is that my baby? The baby you made for me?" She warbled out pathetically before either Vi or I could spit a 'go away' at her.

Violet had Emma out of my arms and out the door before I could stop her, not that I would have. I very seriously considered killing Nora as I advanced on her, but decided the best thing to do was get to Violet as quickly as possible.

Still, it must have shown on my face because she cowered away from me. "That's Violet's baby, hers and mine. You know why I gave her a baby?"

"N-no."

I smiled as I watched her shaking. "Because she's the kind of mother you wanted everyone to think you were. The kind of mother I wished you were to me. But you never loved anything, not even the baby you had that your greed killed. Do you remember that, Nora? Do you remember how it was more important to you to have a big house and fancy clothes instead of your baby?"

"No, no, no, that's not true." She protested weakly, as if she could forget the memories I was dredging up, which was fair enough, but I wasn't going to let her get off that easily. "The only person you ever cared about was yourself. You deserve your monster baby."

I grabbed her arm roughly and dragged to the basement. "It's time for you to crawl back into your hole now." I threw her down the stairs, a muttered 'bitch' slipping past my lips as I slammed the door and went upstairs, terrified of how much damage that little encounter had done.

Violet was a lump under the blankets when I found her, and I offered a quiet apology as I crawled in with her. She didn't say anything, and if not for the stiff set of her shoulders I would have believed she was asleep.

"When those assholes broke in... were you trying to protect me, or your rape baby by killing them?"

"I wasn't downstairs axing the guy holding your mother hostage in half was I?" She was silent once again, but the air around her was still tense. "Do you want me to go?"

"Do you know what hurts the most, what just fucking kills me?"

I had to keep my voice careful, controlled enough to hide my fear when I said 'no'.

"That you didn't love me enough to tell Nora 'no'. You didn't love me enough to tell me the truth; that because you loved her, you let her turn your words into lies."

I had to bite back the frustrated retort about this whole mess being somehow better if I hadn't said 'you should never hurt the ones you love'; antagonizing her wouldn't solve anything.

She rolled over, and even in the dim light we were close enough that I could see her face pinched in anger and determination.

"I don't like sharing," she snapped, "and I really don't care if it makes me as crazy as you, but you were mine from the moment you wrote 'taint' on my chalkboard, and honestly it makes me want to kill you that you weren't."

"I was yours long before that day."

"No. You were Nora's."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** So this got a lot longer than I anticipated, but it's _my_ baby, and I wanted to give it the ending it deserved (even if I didn't 100% resolve everything) in case I don't come back to it :)

* * *

I was watching out the attic window as Violet and Travis chatted in the yard, watching Emma and Lorraine's girls splash around, barefoot, in a puddle of mud created by the heavy rain overnight. Violet said she needed a day or two to calm down after Nora, and I could do that. I didn't like it, but I could do it.

Violet was talking animatedly with Travis, her hands making small movements, and I couldn't help feeling old jealousy and fears writhing inside of me because touching her was still complicated. At least it was when I touched her, and it worried me. The only thing that stopped my brain conjuring images of Travis and Violet entwined around each to torture me with was catching sight of the thing, kid, whatever he was, watching Violet from Constance's bedroom window.

She seemed unaware of her audience, the big billowy clouds casting them in shadow and light as they scuttled across the sky, but I had to force myself to remain in the attic, resist the urge to appear next to her and shield her from his eyes, to usher her and Emma in the house where they were safe.

I didn't know how old he was now - eleven or twelve, I wasn't keeping track -, but ever since Constance told me he watched us I didn't trust him. Chad and Hayden loved to point out how much he was like me, how killing people seemed to be his favourite sport, but it was the way he watched Violet that worried me the most.

His eyes were hungry and curious, as if he couldn't get enough of her. I knew that look. It was the same way I used to look at her and that alone was enough to fuel my distrust, but there was something else, another thought picking a warning in my brain, but it was too insubstantial to grasp.

"Boo!" I flinched at the sound of Emma's voice and she dissolved into giggles, coming up behind me and wrapping her small arms around my neck. I hadn't even noticed that she had left the yard, and I snuck a quick peek out the window to make sure Violet was inside too.

"Very scary, Em, but next time don't laugh." I grabbed her arms and rolled her over my back and into my lap, laying her down gently. She was all smiles and dimples as she looked up at me. "What are you doing up here?"

"Looking for you. I missed you." She said matter-of-factly.

She was so different from the sullen, quiet little girl who had moved in and I couldn't help but think it was because she was loved and she knew it. Even on days like this, when Vi and I were more 'divorced parents' than anything else, Emma knew she was loved. We were always there for her. Always. No matter what was going on between us all she had to do was say our names and we'd be there, ready to love her, play with her, protect her; whatever she needed we were always there to provide it, always there to be the parents we never had.

"I missed you too, Em." I really had before I got wrapped up in thoughts of jealousy and distrust.

"Can we have a treasure hunt?"

"Sure. What should we look for?"

"You pick."

"How about a necklace?"

"Okay." She said cheerfully.

We searched through box after box, half the fun of the game finding things we weren't looking for. Of course sometimes you found things you wished you hadn't, like a shoebox full of press clippings on the Black Dahlia murder. "It's Elizabeth!" Emma exclaimed as she rifled through the box. "How did she die?" Her face was full of curiosity, and I gently took the box away from her, thankful she couldn't read.

"A doctor who used to live here gave her some medicine to make her sleep, and he gave her too much; she died," I told her truthfully. Vi and I had decided it was best that she hear the truth from our lips so we could protect her from the parts of it she didn't need to know, like what happened to make the Black Dahlia so infamous. They were details she didn't need to know and would only upset her, just like why Violet and I had died.

She moved off to rummage through another box, her little fingers eagerly pulling out the contents while I spent most of my time cleaning up the mess she left in her wake as she babbled away about painting the small wooden flower press she'd gotten for Christmas and promptly forgot about until this morning. "I wanted to find some violets to press to cheer Mommy up, but Uncle Chad says we don't have any." She pouted.

I had to pinch my lips together to keep the questions from spilling out. This had been the hardest part of the last few days, not picking at Emma for any information she might inadvertently have about what was going on in Violet's head. But I could guess at the price of that information, so I kept my mouth shut.

An hour later Emma lifted an antique necklace from the box it had been forgotten in, triumphant. It was tarnished silver, a locket embossed with a cameo of a white rose on a black background swinging from it. "Can I give this to Mommy?" Emma begged.

"Yeah, but we should clean it up. Come on, Moira will know how to do it." I led her downstairs, hoping Violet wouldn't see me if she didn't want to, and found Moira in the kitchen commiserating with Lorraine about how awful men are, but she was more than happy to show Em how to polish it, patiently instructing and helping her.

By the time she presented it to Violet it contained a small picture of Emma inside, something I'd saved along with the cash I stole from the Coopers on the off chance Violet might want it someday. Even though I'd never seen Violet wear any jewelry I had a feeling that locket would rarely be out of contact with her skin.

It wasn't until we put Emma to bed that I knew the storm had passed though. She curled up in my lap in the rocking chair, resting her forehead against mine. "Thank you." She whispered.

"For what?"

"For staying away when I needed you to. For coming back."

"You don't have to thank me."

"Yes, I do. I know it's not your fault Nora turned up the other night, and I don't regret what I said, but if you had stayed around I would have punished you for it more."

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"Hmm?"

"You being possessive... really fucking hot. I got off thinking about it this morning."

"You talk like that with our innocent little girl in the room?" There was mock indignation in her voice, but she kissed me all the same.

* * *

I had an arm around Violet's shoulders as we sat in the gazebo, Emma on her lap carefully reading _One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish_, and I couldn't stop smiling. Even if Emma's reading wasn't effortless she was trying; eyes carefully following Violet's finger across the page and face scrunched up in concentration.

Violet and I didn't get a lot of firsts. We weren't there when Emma spoke her first word, or took her first step, but we did get this one. We got to teach her how to read, got to listen to her read her first words, her first book, and I was proud of her.

She read it over and over again, until there were only a few words she struggled with, and by the time afternoon rolled around she was so proud of herself that she just had to show off. She pulled us into the house to make sure that Ben knew she wasn't, in fact, a 'baby' as he'd called her the day before.

Once she'd regaled him and Vivien and Jeffrey with the wonders of Dr. Suess she closed the book and slid off the couch where she was sitting between them with a snotty 'see, I can read, babies can't do that' that sent me scurrying into the kitchen so I didn't laugh right in his face.

And for at least a little while it made Violet and I happy because even though things had been moving along smoothly since Nora turned up there was still an undercurrent there, the conversation too often too careful to be natural. It was still a fragile happiness.

* * *

It's the same ritual Violet had when she was alive that she has in death. It's not a ritual I ever saw the appeal of personally, but one I've always enjoyed. She sits in the bathtub until the water gets cold, then wraps herself in a towel and retreats to her bedroom to dry off and get dressed.

And as much as I try not to openly gawk at her there's always something hypnotic about the way she glides the towel over her skin, careful to get every drop of water off because she can't stand the damp pull of wet clothes.

"Stop biting your lip."

I didn't even realize I was. "Stop prancing around naked." I shot back.

I nearly groaned as she modestly wrapped the towel around herself again. "Better?"

"No." I reached out, pulling her down onto the bed with me, and cursing the way towels seemed to stick to the Harmon's like they're stapled to their skin. At least if it didn't reveal her, my hands could still slip up under the hem to knead at her hips. "Are you trying to kill me?"

The smiled at me slyly, and I let her pull me up; her hands sliding around my shoulders, and mine around her back. "Can I tell you a secret? I was thinking about you in the bathtub, but decided reality might be better than a fantasy."

"Might be?"

"It's been awhile since you showed me how dexterous you are; I might be remembering it better than it was."

I slid my hand carefully around and between her legs, finding her already wet. "You sure?" I asked because I felt like I still needed to. She might not want this tomorrow, might regret it as soon as she cums. This could be two steps back or one forward, but in the last nine months since Halloween, even if there were backward steps there are more forward ones, so we've stuck to deciding moment-to-moment which is which.

This time at least she's the one with her lip trapped between her teeth, quietly nodding her assent. And unlike the first time we fooled around on New Years Eve I didn't worry about getting her off as quickly as I could. I know how to read her body language enough now that I can tell when I've pushed her out of her comfort zone.

There's a whole list of things I love about this, her, this position. I love the feeling of her being in control; love that with an arm still cinched around her waist I can leave marks shaped like my mouth where everyone can see them; love that when she gets close she'll want me to curl my fingers around her hip bone and leave marks where only we can see them.

But my absolute favourite thing is the way she swells up, arches over me and digs her fingers into my shoulders as she comes undone. What I wasn't expecting was how hard she came. How her whole body shook with the force of it; how her exhale turned sharp and ragged, a moan riding out over it and right into my ear. With it echoing in my head it didn't take me long to find my end either.

"Jesus," she muttered, "I forgot how good that feels."

All I could do was nod weakly in reply.

It was a while before she could move off of me, even longer before I could make my way down the hall to bathroom to clean myself up. By the time I got back she had clothes on, but not enough to cover the bruises shaped like my mouth decorating her, and I traced them fondly as we laid together whispering things to each other in the dark, tangents leading to more tangents because the after had always been good too.

"The Cooper's haven't put the house up for sale yet. They're still paying the utilities. It's been almost a year." She said, fingers picking nervously at my shirt.

"They're not coming back. Whatever your parents did while we were staying up with Emma terrified them. They didn't even come back to pack their shit."

"Which makes me worry even more. Their daughter died here. They saw enough to know the house has ghosts. It's not exactly hard to connect the dots that she's probably here too."

"They didn't love her, even when she was alive. If they loved her they would have stayed." I said harshly. "After I died here the house was empty for almost a decade, and after you and your parents it was what, two years? Three? A year is nothing."

"I know."

"But?"

"I worry what it will do to her if they come back. And if they don't, I worry what will happen if the house sells. I know she knows she's dead, Tate, but I don't think she really understands what it means. I mean to her, it's just getting to stay at home with Mommy and Daddy and her friends, and playing all the time. The house is still her normal, you know? She has her room, and everything's like it was. New owners would change that."

I loved that she was so strong, but I loved her more because when she needed someone to be strong for her she still came to me. I was still the one she turned to when she needed to be vulnerable. I was still the only one who saw this side of her. She would never tell anyone else this.

"Trust me, Vi," I said as I kissed across her shoulder, "it will be okay. Look at Lorraine's girls; they're fine. The ghosts that struggle the most with change are the ones who don't have anyone to keep them grounded in reality. Emma has us."

"I know you're right, but I can't stop worrying about it. What if we're not enough? I can't... if I lose her... I just keep expecting everything to get ripped away from me. I'm happy, and I keep waiting for when it's all going to come apart. I can't deal with that again."

Her voice was so small and sad and scared. And it was my fault. I'd ruined her, left wounds that hadn't healed and might never heal. And I hated myself for it. And for a brief moment I wished Violet had never come here because at least then she wouldn't have been dealt the hurt that made her wary of happiness.

I leaned my forehead against hers. "What do you want me to say? That it won't? That I won't let it?"

"No. I just want you to do this."

She didn't need me to fix her life, just listen to her talk about her worries. That, I could do.

* * *

Everyone had gone back in the house at sunset, but Violet and Emma and I stayed outside, listening to the neighborhood go to sleep around us. It was the first chance we'd had to be alone all day. Ben and Vivien had interrupted us in the morning to give Emma the birthday present they'd gotten her, and it seemed like it had been one thing after another kept us from being alone together.

"She's worn out." I murmured to Violet once Emma was passed out against her.

Violet hummed in agreement where she sat against a tree trunk. I picked up her free hand, playing with her fingers. "You tired too?"

"No, just thinking."

"About?"

"Lots of things - remembering her birthday last year, wondering if she's happier now -, but when you interrupted me I was thinking that we're not exactly ideal parents, are we? Homicidal and suicidal. No one would think we'd be good parents, and maybe it doesn't matter since we're all dead anyway, but I think we are."

"You know we might actually be the best parents in the history of Murder House." I joked, and she laughed, light and carefree.

"Do you think she's happy?"

"Hard to be unhappy when you've got a houseful of people that dote on your on your birthday."

"She is spoiled, isn't she?" Violet smiled down at her. "But you know that's not what I mean."

"I know. I think she is. I was thinking about it awhile ago and she's so different from the sullen little girl who moved in here. She knows she's loved now." She nodded to herself, but letting a silence stretch between us until I broke it again. "Are you happy?"

"If she's okay, I'm okay."

There was a quiet strain to her voice, and I knew her well enough to know that even if she wasn't lying she wasn't telling me the whole truth either.

Violet looked from Emma to me, her gaze as tender as it had been at Christmas. "Thank you, for her."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything, just clasped her hand tightly in mine.

"We should put her in bed." Violet murmured.

I stood up, gently taking Emma from her, careful not to wake her up. The talk that had been loud and raucous earlier as we celebrated in the backyard had quieted to a gentle hum as we walked through the house. Hayden, Travis, and the Queens were corralled in the livingroom; Ben was sprawled on the couch in the den as Vivien played her cello softly. Everyone was settling down for the night.

I didn't push her on her non-answer to my question, but it plagued me as we laid in bed, and the words she'd said months before kept playing in my head.

_It's easier living in her world than mine because mine means you, and it hurts too much._

I wasn't stupid, I knew I hurt her. Hurt her enough that after that ridiculous charade of a Christmas she'd spent months locked in her room slitting her wrists and crying when she woke up, hating that she couldn't really die. Hurt her enough that eventually the pain was too much and she disappeared, but I never thought of it bleeding into other parts of her life.

In my mind it was pain that was always contained to me, to those parts of her life that had to do with us. Thinking that way seemed as arrogant and selfish now as falling in love with her and thinking she wouldn't find out about all that I had done seemed then.

I was too consumed by my thoughts to notice that she either hadn't fallen asleep or had woken up until she gently left the bed, padding silently across the hall into Emma's room.

I watched the neon glow of the digital clock on the dresser tick through thirty-eight minutes before I followed after her. She was in the rocking chair, watching Emma sleep. "You okay?" I asked from the door.

"Couldn't sleep." She said dismissively.

"That's not what I asked."

She looked at me, but the darkness cloaked her just enough that I couldn't see her expression from across the room, so I crossed it, sitting gently on the edge of Emma's bed.

"I couldn't sleep either."

"Why?"

"I was thinking about what you said, about how it was easier living in her world because yours meant me and it was too painful. Is it still?"

"Sometimes." She said honestly.

"You've never said anything."

"To you."

"To anyone?"

"Who am I going to talk about it to? Ben? Vivien? Emma? _You_?" Ben would be a dick about it at some point, Vivien... I just can't, and Emma's five years old."

"You could talk to me."

I was close enough to see she looked like she was biting back some scathing reply, but all she did was push herself up out of the rocking chair and walk back to our room, closing the door softly behind us.

"How much do you want to know?" She asked as she threw open the window and lit a cigarette.

"All of it."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Don't expect it to all make sense; it doesn't to me."

"Okay."

She shook her head. "I don't even know where to start."

"How about why you won't talk to me anymore."

She scoffed. "Really? It's kind of obvious."

"You don't trust me."

"It's not that simple. I trust you with a lot of things, just not the things that could hurt me. Even right now I feel like I'm having a panic attack talking to you about this." She held out her hand, and in the moonlight flooding the room I could see it shaking.

A minute later I realized it wasn't just her hand, but her whole body shivering. There was a part of me that wanted to tell her to stop, that hated seeing her afraid even if she'd only call is stress, but I needed to know, to really understand exactly how much damage I had done. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The apprehension, the uncertainty in her eyes gutted me.

I listened quietly as she told me how it was hard to trust anyone, not just me, but especially me because I was the only person she'd ever been vulnerable with, and even if I hadn't raped her I had still violated her. And slowly I picked up on what was harder for her to deal with by the way she talked about it. Her voice would get detached, trying to keep the emotion from bleeding through as much as she could when it a particularly painful subject.

She paced and fidgeted and smoked a lot as she talked. Telling me that most of the time she had a problem being with me not because of where my dick had been - though there was that too -, but because it was intimacy, it was letting someone in, and sex was just the physical part of that.

"I think I could be with someone else, you know? Just sex, but I can't do that with you. I can't separate my emotions from it with you."

"Do you want to be with someone else?"

"No."

"Do you want to be with me?" She shot me a look that clearly called me stupid, so I rephrased. "Do you think you'll ever be able to?"

"I don't know. I guess it comes to down to if I can trust you."

"Do you think you will be able to then?"

"All I know is if I can, it won't be because of any one thing happening or not happening."

"It's not important, you know? If it never happens it's not a big deal. I'm not going to be with anyone else."

"Forever is a _long_ time, Tate."

"That has nothing to do with it. I love _you_. I want to be with _you_. Just because everyone else in this house changes partners the way they change clothes doesn't mean I want that."

"You always were a grungy motherfucker," she snickered, trying to conceal the strain in her voice with false bravado, "literally. But that's _now_. That's what you want now."

The conversation shifted to other topics tangents leading to other tangents. Her detached voice heated in anger as she told how sometimes she still really hates me because I made her fall in love with me when I knew what I was planning on doing - did do - for Nora. How even though I said I loved her I destroyed her life as much and as easily as all the people I'd killed over the years, and that just made her hate me more because I was supposed to love her.

"Why didn't you stay away from me?" She asked, her voice sounding wet, but hiding her face behind a curtain of hair. "I wish you had, sometimes."

"You made me wish I was alive, and I didn't want that even when I was. I didn't stay away though because you made me happy, and I was selfish. After everything I thought I deserved to be happy. I knew it would hurt you if you ever found out, but I was arrogant enough to think I could keep it from you, or that it wouldn't matter if you loved me." My voice sounded wet too.

"You know what the worst thoughts are? Wondering if you're not really the boy who I fell in love with, if it was all just an act so I'd love you. Even worse is wondering if you only love me because I love you and you never had that before; if you love me because of the way I make you feel."

She sat down hard on the bed, hiding her face in her hands. "You used to love Nora, were just as willing to kill for her like you are for me, and you don't love her anymore." She was still shaking, her back heaving as she tried to draw breath before finally giving into the thing that was clawing it's way up inside her all night - maybe longer, really.

And it hurt me too. Every time her body jolted and heaved it hurt me; I could feel it in my arms, my chest - every inch of my body screamed with it. And I felt helpless because I couldn't make it stop, couldn't make it go away, even when I wrapped my arms around her my nerves seared in pain. Her body shivered and shook under me, the same as a body does in fear or pain; the same way it does before death, like all the muscles are straining towards life's warm light one last time.

I held her until she quieted, not saying anything because there wasn't anything to say, and she didn't need my words. I had broken her in a way I wasn't sure I could fix, or would ever heal. What I did changed her. She wanted to be Emma's mother, to be happy in this new life that we were making, and she couldn't because she thought if she let her guard down she'd get hurt again.

I did that to her. The one person I never wanted to hurt, and even years later she was still trying to pull herself out of the wreckage of her life, a fragile house of cards that had collapsed when the foundation of lies it was built on had crumbled.

* * *

"Are you okay? You haven't said much since the other night."

I leaned up against the railing of the gazebo where she was perched watching Emma and Lorraine's girls play in the sprinklers, making the best out of the Indian Summer gripping Los Angeles while Travis and Patrick pulled weeds and cut back the hedges.

"I've just been thinking."

"About?"

"The families of the people I killed. What it must have been like - maybe still is like - for them. What I did hurt you; changed you. You love Emma, want so badly to be her mother, but you're scared you'll get hurt again if you make yourself vulnerable like that. You don't trust anything anymore, not really, and it's because of what I did. It made me wonder about the other people my actions affected."

I looked up to find her gaping at me disbelievingly.

"Yeah, I know." I said defensively. If she didn't believe me, who would?

She shook her head, like a dog expelling water from it's ears. "Well, you've stayed here, cocooned from the consequences of your choices, with Nora or Constance rationalizing and excusing everything you've done. Even Chad and Pat are too wrapped up in their own shit to care about what you did to them. And let's face it, other than me and Em, who else do you care about? The fact that you're empathizing at all - even if we're the reason -, is better than most people expect from you."

"What about you? Is it better than you expect from me?"

She slid off the railing, wrapping her arms around me and nuzzling her face against my neck. Her embrace a quiet acceptance. I pulled her closer gratefully. "You really did change me, you and Emma both. It's not until things like this happen that I realize how much, or even that I have changed. Having you two around though... I see myself becoming the person you both need me to be."

She pulled away, frowning. "I don't want you to change for me. It feels like lies. I don't want to love you for being someone I think you are, and not who you actually are, you know?"

"That's not what I meant. There are parts of me that have always been there that you and Emma bring out. I'm still me, just different parts are more important now. Those other parts - the bad parts - aren't going to go away though; they're still there, just not important anymore." I cautioned her.

"Since you're being so honest can I ask you something?"

"Okay."

"Why'd you shove a fireplace poker up Pat's ass?"

"Honestly?"

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't want to know."

"I wanted to punish him. Despite what everyone thinks I never got off on killing people. I was pissed at him for making it a necessity. At least I thought it was then, I know it wasn't now. Not that it matters."

We stayed like that all afternoon, her asking me questions, and me answering them. I felt a flutter of nervousness every time, but willing to be completely honest with someone for the first time in my life or afterlife because she had been honest with me even though it scared her, and more than that I wanted her to know me; to know all the secrets I had never told anyone else.

I felt good, light by the time she left to usher Emma into the house when the sun went down. I was just pushing myself to my feet to follow them when I heard the bushes on the other side of the fence rustling as Constance called Michael to dinner. I didn't know how long he'd been hiding, listening to Violet and I talking, but my good mood evaporated on the spot.

* * *

It was early, or late, depending on how you looked at it. Either way I couldn't sleep because I couldn't stop wondering how long Michael had been spying on us. I'd only caught the little shit at it a few times, but Constance said it was regular occurrence. The fact that he knew he had to hide it worried me.

And it worried me too because things had been better between Violet and I since we talked. For the first time this thing between us wasn't built on lies or half-truths or even just silence, and it felt solid, real. I didn't know what game Michael was playing, if - like Travis insisted - he was the Anti-Christ, but I didn't trust him not to ruin this.

The sun was lightening the sky when Emma's footsteps pounded from her room to ours and she crawled over Violet, forcing herself between us and pulling me away from my ruminations.

"What's wrong, Em? Bad dream?" Violet asked as she wrapped an arm around her.

I felt her shake her head, heard Violet's breath hitch in her throat, and it took a second for me to realize she must have been talking to Violet silently. That alone should have been enough to tell me something was wrong; she only spoke silently anymore when she was scared.

"What's going on?"

"There's someone in her room." I could hear the fear in Violet's voice, even though she tried to keep it even so she didn't scare Emma.

As soon as the light flipped on in Emma's room I saw why she was so scared. Nathan was sitting on her bed in all his albino, cross-dressing glory playing with a pair of Barbie dolls.

"Hey, Thin White Douche, get out." I snapped.

"Brother," he greeted me coldly, his voice an affected southern drawl, identical to Constance's but lower in register.

"Out, Nathan." I barked at him.

He set the dolls gently down on the bed, making sure their hair and clothes were smooth and perfect, before stalking towards me. And as pissed off as I was I couldn't help recoiling a little because if I was psychopath there wasn't a name for what he was. He was the only person I'd ever met who really, truly scared me.

He had been obsessed with Constance, following her around the house perfectly mimicking her speech, her movements, like she was his walking talking model of perfection. And like his idol his cruelty had tainted my childhood, but unlike Constance he had relied on psychological torture instead of physical abuse. It was those memories that had me fighting the need to run as he advanced on me, like it did every time he turned up.

His eyes locked onto something over my shoulder. "I was going to dress you up like a doll, like a pretty girl. You don't need to be scared. I was just lonely and wanted to play." He said persuasively, ignoring me and focusing on Emma.

I shifted, putting myself squarely between them, so he had to look at me when I told him to 'go away'. I heaved a sigh of relief when he disappeared leaving nothing but the faint odor of Constance's perfume in his wake.

Violet seemed temporarily speechless when I turned to her, Emma held protectively against her.

I cupped a hand around Emma's cheek. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, but was as speechless as Violet.

"You know how we told you there are bad ghosts here?"

"Yeah." Her voice came out shrill, still scared.

"He's the worst one, so if you see him again you send him away and come get me or Violet. Don't talk to him, just tell him 'go away'. Can you do that?"

"Yes." She said solemnly.

I didn't trust Nathan, but even if I did neither one of us were going to make Emma sleep alone in her room after being woken up by a real-life nightmare, so we settled her between us.

Violet waited until Emma was asleep again before she said anything. "He's your brother?"

"Yeah. Beau's the oldest, then him, Addie, and me."

"Does he always look like that?"

"What? Albino?"

"No, the crossdressing."

"Oh, yeah."

"Fuck, I thought you had mommy issues."

"You have no idea." I said wearily.

"How'd he die?"

"Suicide. Got all cross-dressed up in Mommy's best fur coat and string of pearls, and chased a few too many of her valiums with a little too much bourbon."

"Should I be worried about him coming around?"

"He doesn't come around often. The last time was when you guys moved in; he's the one who strung up all the dolls in the back room."

"I thought you did that."

"Yeah, I get that a lot." I reached out, laying my hand over hers where it was resting on Emma. "I won't let him hurt us, Vi."

"I know you won't."

* * *

Somehow Violet had gotten herself shanghaied into a makeover. When I found her sitting stock still on Emma's bed, her face was a study in contrasting colors. "You look like a demented clown." I snickered.

"Careful or you'll be next."

Margaret raced past me where I was leaning in the doorway, coming to a stop in front of Violet. "I think we should do purple."

"Pink," Emma chirped from where she was leaning over, applying more color to Violet's face.

"No, purple." Violet agreed with Margaret.

I didn't miss the way Emma glared at Margaret as she dropped down to sit indian-style in front of Violet, applying polish to her toenails. But it wasn't until Emma finished making up her face and tried to drag her to the bathroom to see her handiwork, and Margaret tried to keep her in place that she threatened to have a tantrum.

"Emma." I said warningly, shaking my head, and stopping her tantrum in it's tracks. We had rarely had to scold her, and I was grateful that when we did she listened to us without too much trouble. She sulked, dragging her feet when I motioned her over to me, her lip pouting dramatically as I picked her up.

"You don't need to be jealous, Violet loves you more than anyone. For a long time - longer than you were alive - before you moved here nobody saw her." I told her silently.

"Why?"

"She was sad. She didn't want to be here." It was as good an answer as any, and one she could understand. "But then you moved here and she loved you so much that she didn't want to hide anymore."

Her fingers picked at the buttons on my shirt just like Violet's did when she was nervous. "Really?"

"Really. Just because she's being nice to Margaret doesn't mean she likes her more than you."

Slowly a smile spread across her face before she wiggled her way down, sitting next to Violet and quietly playing with her fingers until her toes were finished being painted.

**xxxx**

"You know I don't think Emma's going to be one of those kids who begs for a baby brother or sister." I said, laying flat on my back as Violet and I shared a cigarette on the roof.

Violet gave me a horrified look. "I never even thought of that."

"Well it's not going to be a problem because she was pretty jealous about sharing you today."

"Thank God for that." She sighed. "So... Halloween?"

"I was thinking about the Zoo. Actually, Griffith Park has a ton of stuff. Last time I was there they had a vintage carousel; I bet she'd really like that. I used to love Travel Town when I was little and Constance cared enough to take me."

"What's that?"

"Kind of an open air museum with old trains and stuff."

"Do you think your fan club will be a problem?"

"Not during the day; I've never seen them during the day. At night... maybe, it's not as far away as Disneyland. Actually..."

"What?"

"I was kinda of wondering if you maybe wanted to go on a date that night. I thought maybe your parents could take her trick-or-treating. If you don't want to, if you'd rather we take her, it's not a big deal. It was just an errant thought." I said nervously.

Her face was totally expressionless for a moment, and then a smile curled up her lips and she knotted a hand in my shirt and pulled me half on top of her.

By the time we pulled apart our hands had disappeared, taking refuge under layers of clothes, and we were both breathing hard. I liked to think that the fact that we were spending a lot of our free time working each other out of our clothes meant that she was trusting more and more. At least I hoped that's what it meant.

* * *

Halloween dawned cold and foggy, and I loved it. It was the first day that really felt like Fall and we got to enjoy out in the world beyond the gates of Murder House. Since we'd be spending the night away from Emma we took her with us for breakfast and Christmas shopping even if it did complicate things.

While Violet was picking out gifts in a toy store I took her with to me the Apple store, and made her solemnly swear she wouldn't tell Violet about it.

The head geek at their 'Genius Bar' was still nursing a cup of coffee when I slapped Violet's old iPod on the counter. She looked at it like it belonged in a museum.

"We don't stock parts for devices older than five years. You'll have to get it fixed at a third party vendor." She said dully.

"I don't need it fixed, at least I don't think I do." I pulled my most pitiful face and spun her a tale of woe about how it had belonged to my girlfriends beloved, dead sister and - caring boyfriend that I was - I wanted to put the contents of it onto a new iPod before this one died and she lost it forever. "It's all she has left of her. I just want to make sure she doesn't lose it, but I can't seem to figure out how to do it. All sorts of weird screens keep popping up everytime I try." I finished, hoping she'd take pity on me.

It was Violet who had given me the idea. She was always nervous about turning the device on, afraid - because of it's age -, it might break and she's lose all her music.

"I'm not supposed to do this, but special circumstances, right?" She said, looking considering more awake and more enthusiastic after my little story.

**xxxx**

I stashed our shopping in Violet's closet, all except her gift, which I hid in the attic, while Emma changed in her Alice in Wonderland costume. Even though she wouldn't be going trick-or-treating for hours she wanted to wear it to the zoo.

As I straightened up I glanced out the window and noticed someone standing on the front lawn, looking up at the house. She was old, plump, and had short curly grey hair. The house always attracted people this time of year; ghost hunters, teenagers looking for a scare, freaks who hero-worshipped serial killers like the ones who'd tried to kill Violet. I could tell from looking at her that she didn't fall into any of those categories.

Vivien appeared on the scene, black witch costume contrasting sharply with the white angel costume she'd dressed Jeffrey in, and if I wasn't dead already the irony would have killed me; all that was needed was Michael in a red devil costume. I couldn't hear whatever it was she was talking about with the woman, and didn't think too much about it until we were walking out the front door and Emma gave an excited shriek and pulled her hand free of mine.

She raced up to the woman, the both of them wearing twin smiles as Emma bounced up and down in front of her. Vivien turned, looked past me to Violet with a pained expression. Violet's confusion mirrored my own as she dropped down the steps in a daze, absently taking the hand I offered her, and letting herself be pulled forward by Emma with the other.

Emma looked from Violet to the old woman, smiling, but she was the only one. The tension was palpable, Ben and Vivien were radiating with it behind us, and I got the impression that they were hovering protectively. Whatever Emma was saying she was doing so silently.

"It's nice to meet you, Lily." Violet said audibly.

"Mrs. Sherman." She corrected in a hard voice.

Everyone froze for a second, waiting to see what Violet would do. I slipped an arm around her shoulders, noticing how tight and bunched her muscles were. Her posture never relaxed, but when she spoke her voice was unconcerned. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Sherman. Emma told me about you; how you used to visit her."

_Mrs. Sherman_ looked like she was struggling for a moment, probably trying to decide if being a condescending bitch was really a good idea with Emma watching everything. Apparently, it wasn't because a moment later her face fell into lines of matronly amiability. "I'm sorry, but what are your names?"

"Violet and Tate." Emma supplied.

"And you've been taking care of her since she died? It seems like a lot has happened since I last saw her, maybe we could go inside and talk about it?"

"Actually, we can't, I mean _you_ can't." Ben piped up from behind us. "The house only lets in the people who died here."

"No, it's okay." And to my surprise Violet took Lily's hand and led her into the house, leaving the rest of us to scramble after them.

"How did you do that?" I hissed as we sat down in the living room, but she waved me off dismissively.

"I'll go and make some tea." Vivien said, passing off Jeffrey to Ben, probably trying to escape the tense awkwardness Emma's grandmother brought with her.

"Why don't you go help, Emma?" Her grandmother said sweetly. As soon as they were gone the sweet old lady demeanor dropped. "How did she die?"

"Fell down the stairs one night." Violet replied crisply, pulling off the lie so convincingly it took me a minute to remember it actually was a lie.

"Krissy and Brent were never careful enough with her," she snapped, "honestly, I don't even know why Krissy had her. She never took care of her. I was the one who raised her, at least until the cancer made me too sick to do it."

"When did you die?" Violet asked.

"Emma was two, almost three." I could see the wheels turning in Violet's head, her thoughts probably flowing down the same paths mine were. Emma might have loved her grandmother, but how close could they be if she had died when Emma was so young? "And of course I used to visit her quite frequently after I died." She added.

"Really? I thought the dead could only walk the earth on Halloween. Unless of course you died in the house your daughter was living in at the time."

She glared at me. "I died at their beach house. They weren't infrequent visitors."

Violet squeezed my hand warningly, making me bite back the reply that it sounded like bullshit.

"How did you two die, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Suicide. Both of us."

"And you?" She looked at Ben.

"Murdered; my wife and son too." He was careful to avoid looking at me as he said it.

"Tragic, but shouldn't you be looking after Emma instead of two unstable teenagers?"

I had to fight back the urge to show her just how unstable I could be. Beating her to death would probably accomplish nothing more than scaring Emma, who of course chose that moment to return.

Violet sat next to me, drinking her tea and watching Emma passively as she chatted with her grandmother, telling her all about living at Murder House and our plans to go to the zoo today. When she got up to take the empty cups to the kitchen I followed. "If she comes with us to the Zoo do you think you can keep it together?" She asked.

"Do you? Because if you're trying to convince her that Emma's safe with us I don't think you're going to accomplish anything."

"I don't really give a shit what she thinks of us." She snapped. "This isn't about us, it's about Emma. I don't know what Em's going to do when Lily has to leave at sunrise - I know it will be bad, probably -, but if we try to get rid of her that will hurt Emma more. We can't be the bad guys here, or at least can't look like it."

"I don't like it."

"I don't either, but I don't think we have another option." She wrapped her arms around my waist burying her face in my neck like she had our first Halloween together, and I realized that as tough as she was, right now she needed me to be strong for us both because there was still a part of her that doubted she was enough for Emma.

I pulled her closer, one arm around her shoulders, and another around her waist. I wasn't going into war this time with a gun in my hands, but I wouldn't be alone. Violet were in this together, willing to do what was necessary to protect Emma even if we hated it; to prove to _Emma_ that we loved her, were worthy of her no matter what anybody else thought.

**xxxx**

We were actually doing a pretty good job of ignoring the Shrew as I termed her in my head. I could feel her hovering as we walked through the Zoo, Emma on my shoulders so she could see more than peoples legs, and Violet's hand in mine. I wasn't surprised that Emma wasn't paying her too much attention; she was five after all and her attention span wasn't super long especially when there was zebras and giraffes to interest her.

I could tell as we sat down to lunch in the children's park at the top of the Zoo that it was annoying Lily that Emma had asked Violet and not her to go climb around on the jungle gym with her.

"So, if you've been dead for so long, where were you last year?" I asked once we were alone.

"I was there, but you weren't. I waited for a while, banging on the door, a doctor - I think he was, anyway -, answered, but I couldn't get a straight answer out of him. I thought maybe she had crossed over."

"So why did you come back?"

"Because I could still feel her this year."

"You're not doing her any favors."

"I don't particularly care if I'm hurting your girlfriends feelings." She sneered.

"That's not who I'm talking about." I snapped.

"I'm her grandmother. I have a right to see her."

"No matter how much it's going to hurt her when you have to leave at sunrise?"

"I'm-" Whatever she was going to say died on her lips as Emma raced up, and she was back to being the gentle, doddering old grandma.

"We're going to the petting zoo now." Emma said imperiously, a little princess dressed up as Alice in Wonderland with black and white striped tights and red Converse hi-tops.

I could hear Lily chastising Violet for letting Emma behave that way as I carried her, walking in front of them.

"We only get one day of freedom," she said nonchalantly, "and since we're here so Emma can have fun, why not let her pick out what we do?"

"You still shouldn't spoil her that way," she grumbled, "she was a good child, but parenting like that will turn her into a monster."

"I suppose you would know, considering what your daughter grew up into." Violet said sweetly.

"I thought I was the one who had to mind my manners." I murmured, pressing a kiss to Violet's temple as Emma bounded off to brush a goat, Lily tottering after her looking indignant.

"Don't act like you didn't enjoy that."

"I didn't say that. How soon do you think we can get rid of her?"

"Sunrise, probably." She scoffed. "I don't think we'll be going on that date tonight."

"Not so long as she's around."

"If she's going to hang around all night you'll have to stay at home while I take Emma trick-or-treating with my parents."

"We could go around here."

"No. The last thing we need is the Dead Breakfast Club turning up. At least if we're at the house we can go inside and lock them out."

"Yeah, how the fuck did you do that this morning?"

"You know being part of the house makes you kinda aware of what going on inside it, right?"

"Yeah."

"Long story short, I was _aware_ of Nora doing it. I wasn't sure it would work because I didn't know quite how she did it, but I figured it was worth a try."

"As long as no one else finds out about it. I'm sure Chad and Pat would love to invite my fanclub inside."

Once Emma had her fill of the friendly farm animals I popped her back up on my shoulders as we wandered. She didn't care for the apes and orangutans, but was fascinated by the Chinese Mountain Goats and how they'd jump from rock to rock. She loved the bird show, of course, and the demonstration on how to train an elephant - because that was crucial information we'd get lots of use out of -, but she refused to go into the invertebrate hall. I couldn't blame her, hissing cockroaches and huge fucking spiders weren't my favourite thing either. Just the thought of being in there made me shudder.

It was late afternoon, and the zoo was starting to close down by the time we made it back to the beautiful antique carousel we'd passed on our way in. Of everything we'd done today this was what Emma was looking forward to the most, and she watched in rapture as it spun, the organ concealed inside it piping out cheerful music, while we waited in line.

She was gleeful as she climbed on top of the colorfully painted wooden horse, and demanded that Violet occupy the one next to her. I watched from behind them, awkwardly straddling another wooden horse, and feeling Lily's eyes burning holes in my back from where she sat on a bench. Emm reached out taking Violet's hand, giggling like mad as their horses started moving up and down, out of sync, as we spun.

"Can we do it again?" She asked me breathlessly when her horse came to rest.

Since there was more room than people we stayed on until the Zoo closed a half hour later.

Lily claimed Emma's attention on the way back to the car, Violet and I walking behind so we could keep watch. "What do you think they're talking about?" I asked, noticing the way Emma's hands were making small movements even if her lips weren't.

"Nothing good. Emma told me Lily asked why she hadn't 'crossed over' yet." She lapsed into silence, chewing on her lip like she did when something was wrong.

"We can't."

"I know. I'm more concerned why she hasn't crossed over though."

**xxxx**

"I don't like this. I need to be with you and Emma." I was pacing in our bedroom, Emma outside with Violet's parents, waiting for her while she grabbed a jacket from upstairs.

"That would be the opposite of helpful." She stopped me mid-stride, framing my face with her hands. "We'll be back in a few hours. Try not to do anything stupid."

"Like what?"

"Following us."

"I hate this. You and Emma are my family, I need to protect you."

"The best thing you can do is stay here. Do you want Emma to see the Dead Breakfast Club, or vice-versa?"

"Two hours. If you're not back by then I'm-"

Her lips pressing against mine cut me off.

I followed her all the way down to the front door, and watched her and Emma for as long as I could. Twenty minutes later the only person to turn up was Hayden with a very intoxicated guy who, if you didn't know her history with Ben, would have looked generically handsome with dark hair and blue eyes. "Who're you?" He slurred when they found me chain smoking in the kitchen.

"My kid brother." Hayden answered, leading him into the dining room before coming back alone to grab some glasses.

"Better not kill him in a way that leaves wounds." I said quietly. "He may not be as easygoing as Travis when he wakes up dead."

"Why would you think I'm going to kill him?"

"Why else would you bring him here? How long have you even known him?"

"I met him this morning; we spent the day together." She smiled to herself, looking more like the infatuated schoolgirl Ben had been charmed - or maybe just seduced - by then I had ever seen.

"Hope he wants you forever." I muttered to myself as she left.

I had smoked through half a pack of cigarettes, pacing and chewing my nail in the portico by the time Violet walked up the driveway looking harassed, carrying Emma who looked like she was half asleep, and trailed by Lily, Vivien, and Ben all looking very tense.

Once she reached me Violet rounded on Lily. "She's exhausted. She needs to go to bed." Her voice no longer complacent like it had been in the afternoon.

"Don't _you_ tell me what she needs. You are not her family, no matter how often she calls you 'Mommy'."

I put myself between them because for a second I really thought Violet was going to launch herself at the old woman and claw her eyes out, and she might have if she wasn't holding Emma.

"That is out of line." Ben said angrily, but before he could say anything more Vivien had dragged him in the house and slammed the door behind them. I was grateful because this was our fight, Violet's and mine.

"Yes I am!" Violet's voice echoed off the brick, making Emma cringe.

"She is leaving with me!"

"And I already told you, we can't leave. We're stuck here; all of us." Violet seethed.

"Take Emma in the house, Vi." I said through clenched teeth.

"Stop right there." Lily snapped, pointing a craggy arthritic finger at Violet. "Now, you two have had a year to play house, and I appreciate you taking care of her, but whatever you're doing to keep her here it stops tonight, right now. You're not her parents."

"No, she's right, we're not." I would have thought Violet was conceding defeat except for the fierceness of her voice. "You're right. _Her parents_ ignored her. _Her parents_ passed her off on nannies. _Her parents_ were so wrapped up in their own lives that they could never be bothered to play with her, or put her to bed; they could barely be bothered to take her to daycare a couple of times a week."

She stepped up behind me and I threw an arm out, barring her from moving any closer. "We were the ones who were there for her all day, every day, even before she died. And when she had bad dreams we were the ones sitting with her all night, soothing and protecting her and rocking her back to sleep. So no, clearly, we're not her parents, because her 'parents' never did any of that."

I pushed Violet behind me, turning at the same time, so that I was standing directly in front of her. Emma was crying softly against her, fingers tangled in her hair, but Violet looked confident, strong. I didn't know if it was this stranger showing up and hurting Emma, or threatening our happiness, or even the empty threat of Emma being taken away from us, but all those insecurities she had about being a mother seemed to have melted away.

I wrapped my arms around them both, kissing Violet's cheek tenderly, and willing her to trust what I was going to do next, even if it made me feel like shit to use Emma. I lifted her out of Violet's arms and set her down on her feet, pulling Violet down by her hand so we were crouched on her level.

"Emma," I pushed the hair out of her face, and tilted her chin up so she had to look at us, "we love you, so much, but if you want to leave that's okay. We'll still love you, you know that, right?"

She nodded silently, tears streaming down her face.

"Do you want to go with your Grandma Lily?" I asked her gently.

Violet was silent beside me, and I knew like me she was terrified even if she didn't show it because as certain as I was a moment before that Emma would want to stay with us, I wasn't now. It probably wasn't even a second, but it felt like an eternity before Emma slowly shook her head, and so quietly you almost couldn't hear it said, 'I wanna stay'.

"Take her inside, Vi." I said quietly, "I'll be up in a minute."

I waited until the door closed behind them before getting in Lily's face. "You want to know how I died? I lit my mom's boyfriend on fire, killed fifteen people and shot a score more at my high shcool, and when the cops showed up here I pulled a gun on them and they filled me with bullets. That's not who I am anymore, but believe me, I can still go there when I need to, especially when the people I love are threatened."

I didn't stick around to listen to her splutter.

Vivien was hovering outside our bedroom where Violet was holding Emma as she sat on the bed, whispering to her. I pushed past her, closing the door in her face as politely as I could because this moment was only about us.

"Why did she keep saying you weren't my mommy?" Emma asked tearfully.

"Because some people - like your grandmother - thinks it makes a difference that I didn't give birth to you. That doesn't mean they're right, Em. It doesn't matter to me that I didn't, you're still our baby."

And for once Emma didn't protest the word 'baby' being applied to her.


End file.
